


Catch

by RosebudBasilton



Series: Simon Snow and the Six Elementals [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: ADHD, Anxiety, Death, Demons, Depression, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mentions of Suicide, Please take caution with themes in this story, Poor Planning, Romance, Slow Burn, SnowBaz, emily is an OC and i love her a lot, from me nd the characters, i just wanted baz to have a friend tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 73,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosebudBasilton/pseuds/RosebudBasilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7th year AU - A missing amulet and shifty behaviour from the Mage has Simon far more than suspicious on this next mission for the greater good of the World of Mages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hope the OC is okay??? idk im scared of opinions

**Simon**

There's been a situation, of fucking course.

Day one, year 7, and I can't even walk up to my Magic Words class without being told that the world is ending, _again_. By now, I should be expecting it. This happens every bloody year at Watford, and (of course) they just _have_ to call on me. Simon Snow. Chosen One. _The Mage's Heir_ , who cant even use his magic properly. It's a wonder why the Board of Magic still lets the Mage send me out on these missions. Honestly, the title is embarrassment enough, but sending me out there is like bombing your own army. Admittedly, I used to enjoy the Mage's missions. Seeing as the Mage is the closest thing I have to family (orphan life, what can you do?), having him put so much trust in me used to be such a thrill (regardless of the inevitable doom I'd meet). Now, though, I'd rather not do anything to help the Mage.

For all of sixth year, the Mage had ignored me. Mission after mission, not listening when I pleaded for a break in the business of being the token chosen-hero. There was no time to study, barely any time to catch up on all the missed classes... I was already struggling as it was, but, ironically, there's no time for schoolwork in the mad mind of our headmaster. There's sense in it, I know; sacrifice the education of one student (and then some) for the safety of thousands of magicians all over England, possibly even the world. Still, though, I'd really rather catch up on the education I've never had. Once all of this is done I'm going to have shit-all skills and no job opportunities - unless someone needs a full-time heroic farce.

On top of that, I'm pissed off that the Mage hasn't even begun to focus on our biggest threat - the Insidious Humdrum. A faceless menace, who seems to be at the heart of all of our problems anyway. It's been months since the Mage has even mentioned the Humdrum, but so far _everything_ has led back to that demonic git. The constant convolution around the matter is what bothers me the most.

All of this special treatment is making me look like a right twat, too. The class isn't even surprised when I don't go in, but the impression of jealousy and frustration is overwhelmingly strong. Side-eyes and scowls shot at me, agitated mumbling as they all shuffle, and I'm being dragged away like a child. Just once. I wish I could be normal just once. (Or better yet, Normal.)

"Simon, we have an issue," the Mage huffs out, his voice theatrical and over-pronounced. It's sounds as ridiculous as he looks - it's _all_ a costume. As much as I respect and look up to the Mage, he really is starting to test my patience. Acting like I'm invisible whenever I need him to give me answers, then pulling me out of my life as he pleases? I feel like I'm nothing more than his project (or worse, a spare part).

"Humdrum?" I all but yawn. _As if - he probably doesn't even remember what the Humdrum is_. The bored tone in my voice goes unnoticed as he carts me off to his office, all the way through the school and across the courtyard.

As we walk across the school grounds, he continues to speak. It sounds like he's been rehearsing in his bathroom mirror (or more accurately, like he was kicked out of theater school). "Perhaps," he announces, taking the whole 'all the world's a stage' concept far too seriously. "But of a foreign nature - an imbalance of our worlds, and a threat to our mortality."

"With the Normal world?" I barely get the end syllables of my words out. I'm growing exhausted just listening to him. It's a mission to translate what's saying sometimes.

"No, no." He's chuckling, patronising me. I'm waiting for him to ruffle my hair and pinch my cheeks, or send me off to fight with a plastic wand (which, admittedly, would probably work better than my actual wand). We arrive at his tower and pause at the grungy medieval door. It's framed by carved branches and flower that are constantly losing petals and blooming all over again. Soft pink flora drifts and floats down toward us, and dissolves into the atmosphere right above our heads. The Mage turns to me, a grave expression upon his weathered face. I can't tell if he's seriously _that_ upset about it, the messages here are so mixed up. "Our world, and the dead."

Though I don't want to admit it, that catches my attention. If it were the Normal world, I'd understand - suspicion gone wild, scientists everywhere...but this is truly fascinating. For so long, we've only ever battled the dark creatures, or goblins, or the Humdrum, but to fight those who've already fallen? That almost seems wrong. _Wh_ _at the fuck's happened?_

He hops up the spiral staircase like he's enjoying the excitement of this. If I'm not mistaken, I could sworn I saw him smiling. "I-is there trouble with the Veil?" I ask, honestly astounded at what I'm hearing. Screw the speech impediment ( _damn_ the speech impediment) - I want answers.

"No. Far worse. An amulet has been taken. _B_ _roken._ "

I struggle for a reply, rushing up after him. The railing is frail, made of ancient twisted metals, forbidden to rust under the preservation of magic. He makes a flamboyant entrance into his office, leaving me to push against the door as though it's being barricaded by an elephant. Not a single glance was given to my struggle. How typical. "What does that have to do with this?"

The interrogation I'm giving him must have ticked him off - he slams his hands onto his desk in a sudden burst of aggression, pencils and papers flying out at impact. The contents all clatters to the floor as he sweeps the surface clear, rage radiating off of him like heat from a fire. "It held the _spirits_ , Simon. The spirits that were held back for _good reason_ \- the protection of our people, namely _our students_. We have to capture them before they grow any stronger, or worse..."

I raise an eyebrow. "Worse?"

He waves my concern off, agitated, stroking his ridiculously over-designed beard (it borders his face along the jaw and merges into a plump, cartoon mustache. Not even my posh-prick roommate would spend so much time on a patch of rogue hair). "Never mind that. The point is, Simon, that you have to capture them. I have to leave. There is business elsewhere. You are now my head of operations."

Shock overwhelms me. Why in Merlin's name would the Mage put _me_ (Simon Snow, the mage with no magic) in charge of this? In charge of _anything?!_

It's happening. That familiar, insatiable feeling that pricks at my skin like firework debris. I can't help it. My emotions are getting the better of me - my magic boils at the brim of my skin, leaking out of my pores and dispersing into the wasteland of the atmosphere. Leaving? Again? Just when things get difficult, or dangerous, he runs off like a coward in the dark. This man is allowed to be in charge of over a thousand students, and yet he has the responsible capability of a half-brained numpty. Every cell in my body wants to go off; to catch fire, burn, _take him down with me._ I know that I can't, though. It takes all of my strength to hold back and take control again. My tongue is clamped between my teeth. _I can't_.

With a slow exhale, like I'm taking a drag (it happened once - the kids down south are fearless in the summer), I slow down and glare at him. Even now, he's distracted, refusing to look at me. "Yes, _great_ idea, leaving a seventeen-year-old to catch demons before they get 'too strong, _or worse_...' whatever that means. Great idea, running off when we need you. Wonderful thought, to let an untamed amateur defend our people. What a _brilliant_ Mage you are."

With not a moment to comprehend what I'm actually saying, the Mage grabs his briefcase from the rustic leather chair beside the monstrous, crosshatched window, still not listening to me. As he strides towards me, smooth and quick, I flinch. Seeing what he did to his desk has me worried.

His hand sets down on my shoulder. "I'm glad you think so. Thank you, Simon."

And he leaves

 

+++

 

Within an hour or two, I'm gazing out of my dorm window at a social wasteland. Ghosts of conversations and gatherings are haunting the quad, the rush and adrenaline of a cancelled lacrosse practice still lingers on the pitch. The lock-down alarm has been going on for about 5 minutes, but the teachers stationed all around the halls and stairwells have told us to just stay in the dorms, no need to hide or lock doors. Honestly, even this seems a bit ridiculous - we should be defending our school, not cowering under the direction of a madman.

Penny breaks into my room at around noon. We had made our plans in a hasty rush in the corridor, heading opposite ways to our suspected classes before the lock-down was announced. Usually I'd be in Latin by now, but all classes have been cancelled for _at least_ the rest of the day with the news of danger at Watford (again). The electric hum of anxiety drifts through the halls and rooms - questions were being thrown left, right, center as we all filed back to our rooms. Is it safe to stay? Is it safe to _leave?_ I wanted these answers just as much.

A flouncing frizz of purple hair bounces behind Penny as she practically runs to my bed, wand in hand. She straightens her glasses (they match her hair, I like it) and sighs heavily as she sits. We share a smile and a chaste hug, before she casts a quiet spell and begins writing in the air. _'What do we know?'_

"Right, okay," she breathes, standing right up again. I can tell that she's pretty much ready to strangle the Mage for reeling me into this. "Tell me everything."

Motivation recedes on me as soon as she says it. I lean back on my pillow and shrug. "Isn't much."

"It's _something_."

Penny has been an intense, determined learner ever since I met her, and beyond. It's remarkable, to be quite honest, and I admire her for it but as much as I want to help the World of Mages out and all, I would really rather taking a nap, or a break from the drama. It's not a great time for me to be dealing with demons and dodgy Mages; the apocalypse is the least of my problems right now.

Penny hits me when I groan, exhausted and defiant. I crane my neck, just to glare at her. She _knows_ why I don't want to think about this right now. With an over-dramatic sigh, I answer her; "There's an amulet. It's missing and broken. Demons got out. We have to capture them before they get stronger, _or worse...._ "

The bitter edge to my voice goes scandalously under-appreciated as Penny scribbles everything into the air, silver points and blue headings. 'Or Worse' is circled in scarlet red. The start and the end of the line missing each other by a mile, with a scruffy question mark beside it. _How bloody accurate_.

"What could that mean?" She whispers, mostly to herself.

"No fucking clue," I mumble.

Just as she's about to ask another question (no doubt about my attitude, judging by the look she's giving me), the bathroom door clicks and swings open with a billow of steam and the nauseating scenting of posh soap and old wood. I had almost forgotten that my roommate, Baz, still lives with me. He's not wearing a shirt and his pale, bare chest is glistening with steam and sweat. Without a lie, I can say that Baz is bloody gorgeous, but he's also an evil prick with a malicious vendetta to kill me. I'm 100% sure that he's actually a vampire (cold, grey, always in the catacombs). They seem to cancel each other out.

"I don't want to know how you get in here everyday," Baz drones out to Penny, swishing his glistening jet black hair to one side, "I don't even want to know why, but can you not sit on my bed? You smell like chocolate cake and pen ink and it gets all over my sheets."

Neither Penny or I can spare him enough attention. It's certainly an underwhelming reveal, when your sworn enemy could potentially turn Penny and I in and have us both expelled, and not one of us cares. Penny rolls her eyes and puts her wand away, crossing her arms. "How long have you known that I come up here?"

Baz towel dries his hair and flicks it towards me, just to spray me. I let him believe that it doesn't bother me. "Since you first came up here and sat on my bed. Don't do it again."

He pulls a thin white t-shirt out of his draw on and swings his legs over the edge of his bed and picks up a book. I can barely bite my tongue before it tumbles out: "Are you wearing jeans?"

You see, I have an issue where I prefer to _not think_. This tends to effect my brain-to-mouth filter, and I end up saying a lot of things that I would prefer not to. Case and point: right now.

Both Baz and Penny look up at me in confusion, frowning and squinting, hands stuck out at their sides. Baz looks more surprised than anything, his hand slowly resting on his hip, just on his waistline. Cheeky bastard, pulls it down just over his hip bone (ridiculously defined) and smirks. "Keep it in your pants, Snow," he spits. "Stop checking me out."

"Oh, you'd wish."

Not bothering with a reply more than an eye roll, he's already turning back to his book. Although Baz has the caring capacity of a non-sentient table, his curiosity will always be his downfall. He doesn't look at his book for more than a moment before he double takes on our notes, ivory scribes hanging in the air, moving and shifting all around the room. Penny raises her eyebrows at him, expectantly.

"What?" She asks, wary that he might bother to answer.

Baz sits up and looks closer at the words floating above him. "Who told you about the amulet?" He whispers. He sounds almost fearful.

Penny directs a set of bullet points to the window. "The Mage... Why?"

I don't think I've ever seen Baz so afraid. Is he afraid? He's so hard to read. It's probably one of his vampire tricks, designed to keep me busy guessing his mood while he plots out his next great caper. In a way, though, he looks regretful. Betrayed.

"It's nothing."

Baz fishes out his earbuds and pushes them into his (non-regulation) phone. At first he's only typing, taking laboured breaths and anxiously shifting his eyes between Penny and our notes. A few seconds later, though, the tacky muffle of his music can be heard, even when his headphones are tucked into his ears. I'm torn between thinking it's classical music or punk rock - there's no telling with Baz.

Penny clicks her fingers beside me. "Simon, did you hear _any_ of what I just said?"

"You were talking?"

Penny groans. "Yes. I was saying that we should go to the library and read up on these demon...things, before we get Agatha involved, or do anything else."

 _Crowley_ , Agatha.

Agatha is my girlfriend, and the entire reason why I'd rather not exist right now. Usually relationships are supposed to be a happy, loving experience. They're a support for life, not to mention a reason to come back from battle alive. Whenever I had to go on one of the Mage's missions, I did it for Agatha. Now, though, I fear that we're drifting apart, falling out of love. Every time I think about her, I get sad all over again. It's not really her fault, but I don't know how I'm going to break the news to her. _Hey, I don't love you anymore! Could you pass the salt?_

I lay back down on my bed, eyes shut, arms over my head. "Can we not think about the demons right now?" I whine. Reminding myself of Agatha has made my brain feel even heavier. "I don't want to."

The thing I periodically forget to mention about Penny is that she is far more motivated and hard-working than I am, but she will very _enthusiastically encourage_ me to work harder. It horrifies her every time I suggest procrastination.

"What is _w_ _rong_ with you today?" She sighs, sitting next to me. "Demons are loose in Watford, and you want nothing to do with it. What's going on?"

I shrug and figure it best to lie. "I don't know."

She places a hand on my shoulder. "Simon, what's wrong?"

I rub my face, hoping that maybe it will wipe away my dread and anxiety. "I'm just feeling exhausted is all. Can we take a break?"

She smiles. "Sure. I get it, I do."

Over on the other side of the room, Baz pulls one headphone out, leaning forward just a bit. His eyebrows push inwards and his eyes scan the room as we all anticipate what in Merlin's name he's doing. Quickly, he stashes his phone under his pillow and turns to Penny and I. "Someone's on their way up. Bunce, hide in the bathroom."

And so she does. Penny scuttles over to the door and closes it behind her, while Baz goes back to his book and I pretend to be asleep. Just a few moments of tense silence later, there's a knock on our door. Baz sure as shit won't answer it (he's a lazy prick when he wants to be), so I get up and swing the door open, revealing a rather frazzled Ms. Possibelf.

"Miss, what's-?"

"No student is to leave these school grounds, under any circumstances," she declares. "There will be a curfew in place between 9pm and 9am."

Baz stands up and walks over to us. "By who's orders?" He asks, utterly offended. "And what about classes? Sports practices?"

"The Mage has given these orders." (Cue Baz's arduous laughter and audible eye-roll). "Timetables will be altered to fit three periods a day, four days a week. We've lost multiple teachers to the make-shift security council. Sports practice are cancelled until further notice."

"Why can't we go home?" Baz whines. "If there's an emergency, shouldn't we go home?"

"The exit of Watford is...compromised, right now. I really must go, boys - lunch is being served in the dining hall as we speak. Good afternoon."

She bustles away down the stairs, not sparing another second on our questions. What in Merlin's name is the Mage up to? As I close the door and stretch my arms up to the ceiling, Baz hits the bathroom door with such a force, I hear shampoo bottle clatter to the ground inside. Where I expect him to look pleased - smug, even - walking back to his bed, he looks neutral, if not slightly disgruntled. I don't know why this shocks me, to be honest. He always looks like that.

"Baz," Penny beckons softly, stepping out of our bathroom. Baz rolls his head towards her, and though I can't see it, Penny's face gives me the impression that he's doing his 'why-the-fuck-are-you-bothering-me-you-peasant' face. "Thank you for the warning, and not turning me in and all."

Baz sighs heavily and turns to look at me as well. "I only did it because if you get caught, I go down with you." He walks over to me and grabs my shirt, yanking me over to him and snarling in my face. "And I am _not_ letting you ruin my life. Got it?"

I straighten up. Our noses are practically touching. He smells like St Laurent caught on fire in the middle of a perfume store. "Got it. _Prick_."

A smirk and a "Good," before he releases me and backs out the door. "Oh, and one more thing - if you're dragging Agatha into this, you keep the _fuck_ away from Emily. If she gets mixed up in one of your schemes, will dangle you over that merwolf moat until your magic drips out of your face like a fucking nosebleed. Are we clear?"

To put it simply, you don't get between Baz and Emily. Emily is Baz's other half, except that they aren't a 'thing' yet. They stay like planets; always following, _chasing_ , never crashing. It's almost frustrating to watch them follow each other around like lost puppies. How they haven't at least _kissed_ yet, I have no idea. The more I think about it, the more it makes me pity him; Baz would have made a move by now if he'd had someone to push him into it. Dev and Niall aren't good for that kind of plan, and Emily is the only other student (Baz is oddly popular with the teachers) (except the Mage) that Baz actually gets along with. Maybe its good that they aren't together, though.

See, Emily rooms with my girlfriend, Agatha. They don't really get along at all, though they aren't as conflicting as Baz and I. In fact, Agatha says that maybe if they could bare to talk to each other for more than five minutes a day, they could potentially be quite good friends. I mean, to be fair, it _seems_ like they'd be great friends. They both play lacrosse for our school, and they're both _mad_ ruthless on the field...watching a game, you'd never guess that they can hardly recognise each other by voice. Apparently the field and their room are two very different places, though.

"We're clear, Baz," I answer, defeated. The distraction was nice while it lasted, but with the mention of Agatha, the thought of us is weighing down every thought I have again.

He nods and walks out, probably to the dining hall. Penny touches my arm and smiles from one side of her mouth when I look at her. In all of my tempest thoughts and literal brainstorms, I can always count on her to ground me. That's the great thing about Penny and I; I'm built to go too far, and she's the one that pulls me back.

"D'you want to go get some lunch?" Penny suggests. "We'll meet Agatha there."

Her name brings a smile and nothing more. "Sure."

 

+++

 

**Penny**

  
Simon won't admit it to me, but we both know that he's got a lot more on his plate than just these demons we need to catch. He barely talks to Agatha anymore. Those two have been as rigid as rusted clock hands, ever since Simon's last mission (Agatha tends to stay behind on missions - she's not boring, simply sensible). Neither of them will tell me _why_ they refuse to communicate, but if it carries on any longer, I'm afraid I might be forced to take a side. How can I be expected to choose between my two best friends?

We walk into the dining hall and sit around Agatha, exchanging grave smiles as a courtesy to forge a lighthearted mood. The rest of the school seems to have avoided this particular table in all of the rush to get food before this anonymous impending doom reigns upon us. Agatha isn't usually caught with company besides Simon and I, but we love her very much (Simon more than I) (perhaps). She reads a lot, and spends a lot of time practicing lacrosse, but she rarely hangs out with a group. Short answer: she hates magic. Additional context: no one else does.

"Hey," she mumbles out, grinning and baring it as Simon kisses her cheek out of habit. The tension in her shoulders makes her look about as awkward as Simon, and _that's_ saying something. They won't touch. It's like they're magnets of the same charge; repelling. Agatha grimaces, and her eyes look like they've seen Hell and worse. "You're fighting monsters again?"

Something about this is beginning to connect - and it doesn't look good for their future together.

Even so, Simon laughs. I can see him relax again, but he's holding back from falling like he has every time before. He used to let himself drop right into her lap, hold her close to his body, take in as much of her memory that he could before he ran off to fight again. Agatha just looks the same as she has since we walked in; fierce and reluctant. Awkward. Fucking gorgeous, but she has no idea how to use it.

"They're staring at us again," Agatha comments, eyes set hard on the infamous roommates who were sitting so far away, eyeing us with a bitter glare and a smirk to kill for. Baz and Emily make the whole room look divided - they're certainly outcasts, but their confidence chalks a line around anywhere that they choose to walk. I give the cause of that power to Emily; she's the life of the party, even when there is no party. Everything she does is electric.

"Don't mind them; they're trying to escape their own sexual tension," Simon assures us, and takes Agatha's hand so casually. Emily pretends to vomit from across the expanse of tables. Agatha stares at their hands, and then to Emily, and recoils faster than Simon held it. We both look at her as our universe goes silent. This is it. This is where an era begins to end.

"I have lacrosse practice soon," Agatha announces, standing with haste. "I should go change, I'll see you guys later."

Either Simon hasn't noticed yet, or he's ignoring that he did, there's a major issue with Agatha's excuse; all extra-curricular activities, including sports practices, have been cancelled. When Agatha is out the door on her way to a lonesome practice, I look to Simon. He's turned his focus to the table, looking at no state to be alongside civilization.

So, I have to ask: "You do know that-"

"I know."

"Oh."

He folds his hands and sighs. I guess all we can do now is wait for the fall. "So, where do we start with the demons?"


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Emily are best buds. Emily has anxiety though and she has an attack (Anxiety TW!!)

**Baz**

  
Emily and I clicked in a way that I can't really describe. Mostly, because if ever _anyone_ is to ask, Emily will jump right in and explain it all with a song and a dance and a 5 minute violin solo. She'll give you the long, dramatic speech of how we met that starts with a once upon a time and ends with a ' _To be continued in the next episode of Emily and Baz take on the world!_ '. And she's never short on hope that we will, indeed, live to make an memory.

In actual fact, it's a lot less spectacular than that. In the first week of our second year, she sat down next to me at breakfast and stole my scone, messily biting off a mouthful and chewing loudly. Her arm and leg knocked right into my side, and it shocked me right out of my daze. Clearly I had been too obvious in my glaring at the school Golden Boy; Simon Snow, with his perfect arm around his perfect girlfriend - poster children for being perfect, perfect, _perfect_. "Fucking Snow," she cursed, crumbs dropping from her lips. "'Got his girl as my roommate. Apparently he can be a right twat sometimes."

After I'd snatched my scone back (not that I'd eat it - vampire, and all - but it was the principle), I grumbled out a quiet: "He's not a twat."

That was probably my first mistake in keeping the whole gay-vampire-unrequited-lover deal a secret. Emily just smiled, looking at Agatha and Simon, too. They were smiling and laughing, and Snow was teasing about something. Agatha's _painfully_ pale skin (said the half corpse) folded and scrunched when she laughed at Snow, and Emily was grinning like she was watching a romantic comedy. She casually reached over and took my scone again. "Yeah, I made that up."

"Why?"

"Same reason you don't like Agatha." She took a bite. "Jealousy."

My eyes went wide and began to sting at the exposure.bYou know that feeling you get, when everything is light and weak in your body? You feel like you're dropping, and all of the magic is just dripping out of your skin (well, assuming you _have_ magic). That was exactly what I felt when Emily Scott, of all people, figured out my biggest, best kept secret.

(Technically, two of them, but they go hand in hand.)

"What are you talking about?" I had accused in a low voice.

"Basilton, I see myself when I see you looking at ol' _Wellbesnow_ over there; you're gay. You love him. You literally _could not_ get more sexually frustrated, it's making me horny from here."

If I _had_ chosen to eat that scone, I would have probably ( _definitely_ ) choked on it. " _Crowley,_ would you shut up? Someone might hear you."

She chucked her skinny, light brown legs up on the table and leaned back. There were dark freckles scattered all across her shins and knees. "Relax, Tyrannus - can I call you Tyrannus?"

"No."

"Basil?"

"No."

"Sir Pitch the Third?"

"Why do you not _shut up_?!"

Everything about her was thin, her wrist being no exception when she held it in front of my face, dangling her silver chain in ahead of my eyes. "It's a side-effect of ADHD, buddy."

Regret was all I could choke up. Nice one, Baz. Way to go. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude."

She shrugged and smirked. "S'all good. Not like I wear a sign about it. Oh wait-" She dangled it again.

Generously, I _almost_ laughed. "You're all right, y'know. You can stick around."

Crumbs flew out of her mouth as she spoke. "I'm going to, anyway. You have no choice."

Obviously, when Emily tells this story, she skips some details and adds more flair (I keep having to wonder if that's _actually_ how she remembers it) and she gushes over Agatha far more than she'll ever want to admit. Long story short, we bonded over the fact that we're both deeply fond of of our roommates, and they're dating _each other_. Life, to put it simply, hates us, but we're best friends for it.

At the moment, we're sitting in the dining hall, right across from the two love birds and Bunce. The light from the windows is hitting them like a God-send, but they're all grumbles and grimaces. Agatha is so bloody palein the sun that it's almost painful to look at, but Emily seems willing to blind herself. And Snow... _Crowley_ , he all but glows, like an ember on a burnt out bonfire.

"Gorgeous," Emily mutters, mindlessly scribbling in her journal. She calls it 'her brain place', because it's what she does when she's not looking. The pages are all busy with lines and swirls and incoherent words, some in English, some in Latin, most in Spanish.

"You're telling me," I whisper.

"But how long do you reckon they'll last?"

I push my mouth to the side and hum. Any time I give is going to sound biased - I've been trying to throw a wedge between them since they got together. The Golden Couple can't break up soon enough. They seem so unhappy, but then again they always do. "3 months."

Emily sucks in a breathe like a drag from a cigarette, leaning back in her seat. "You're getting soft, Baz. I give them two weeks, if not less."

Again, with all of that hope. Malicious, maybe, but it's hope no less. She smacks her rustic red journal shut and swishes her wavy, brown hair to the side, tapping her pen against the table in a waltzing rhythm. When Agatha stands up and walks away from the other two in a fussiled frenzy, both Emily and I exchange a look. Agatha looked sick and upset, and Emily wasn't having _any_ of that.

"Go check on her," I prompt, nudging Emily's arm.

I should have guessed that she'd have half a sandwich stuffed into her face. Honestly, between her and Snow, they could clear an entire banquet. "What? No! She doesn't want to see me."

"You're her roommate, you're the only one that can get in. Em, come on. Swallow your pride for a second. And that sandwich. Don't talk with your mouth full."

Gobsmacked, Emily sputters around like a dying fish, desperately trying to finish her food. I'm no one to talk about swallowing pride, but she really was the only one Agatha could talk to; a few school rules said so. With a nudge, I push her off of her seat and towards the great hall door, aged and chipping at the edges. She waves me off harshly, walking out into the corridors. Bunce and Snow trail her as she leaves, but quickly direct their glares to me.

All I do is stare them down as I stand. Snow's hands rest on his biceps, clenching tight to the skin. The closer I get to them, walking right up to their table before I traipse off back to our dorm room, the more vividly I can see the goosebumps on his skin. No wonder, too. The weather outside has turned to shit, the wind is beating at the castle walls like armageddon descending, and he's sat with a t-shirt and trackpants. Apart from his uniform and pajamas (actually, I'm pretty sure those trackpant's _are_ his pajamas), those are the only clothes he has at Watford. It pains me, because I hate to see him cold, or sick, or disadvantaged by the dumbasses that gave him up to the fucking foster system.

I could lend him my spare jersey. He'd look amazing in navy blue. Or grey. And they'll be too big for him; he'd look adorable with the sleeves hanging over his hands and the hem tucking around the top of his thighs...but I'll never see that. Dreams are for people who have hope, and nothing over these useless years I've lived has given me any reason harbour hope.

"Where's Emily going?" Bunce asks. She's far more fearless than Snow, though I suppose that's because I haven't directly threatened (or tried) to kill her.

"I don't know," I lie, harsh on my syllables. "Probably following your girl around. Remember what I said, Snow - she's stays out of it, I'm warning you."

Snow stalls, frozen and stoic, but he nods all the same. Far too heroic for his own good, Snow will agree to keep anyone safe so long as they say please. A gust of wind crashes against the north wall, rattling the windows in their hinges. Snow closes his eyes and shivers, just _begging_ for my sympathy.

Crowley, I hate my life.

 

+++

 

**Emily**

  
Bunce and Snow need to learn some etiquette if they want to make it through this year unharmed. Their eyes couldn't be ripped off of me with firepower when I left the dining hall. To think, they're Agatha's _actual friends_ , and yet I'm the one looking after her. Some boyfriend, Snow is, not even running after her. To think, people actually see him as a _hero_...yet he can't even save Agatha from this grief. I'm starting to think _I'm_ getting soft - two weeks was far too generous.

There's a staircase that leads directly to our door, and on every step I'm second-guessing myself. The brick walls seem to get more and more narrow as the path goes on, unlike usual. My brain begins to focus on the bricks far too much for my liking, thinking that they'll tell me what to do. What do I even do when I get up there? She isn't going to wan to see me. How do I even comfort her?

It's not when I start to feel the buzzing confusion in my brain that I realise the inevitable doom approaching me. Fucking ADHD; I swear it's all because of this. This is the second anxiety attack this week.

Before I look in front of me, the door blocks my path. _Just do it, Emily. Just go._

"Agatha?"

My voice is weepy. I don't mean for it to be. In fact, I go out my way to hide it, taking deep breaths and excusing coughs - I don't need to burden Agatha with my issues right now. I step into the room of two halves and shut the door, scanning for that beloved swish of white-gold hair. Her side of our room is lovely. Pastels and fairy lights, right next to the window, clean and organised... My side of the room is covered in band and movies posters, all overlapping with no uniform. Random drawings are pinned over top of them, alongside photos of my family. I'm always guilty of leaving mess in my wake (and although she won't say it, Agatha does hate it), so as I walk past my bed I pick up all of my dirty washing and shove it into my drawers. All of my weekend clothes - t-shirts, jeans, jackets...even my Watford uniform is crumpled up into a hasty pile from this morning. Agatha leans out of the bathroom door, wearing lazy sports practice clothes, looking surprised (and might I add, _adorable_ ).

"Hey," I blurt out far louder than I intend, stroking my hair behind my ear and desperately trying to look natural. Result: I look as out of place as a giraffe in a Hobbit hole. My hands shake behind my back, but I'm electing to not care about that right now. Focus. _Focus._

"Hi."

 _Oh my Morgana she replied_. "Hey!"

I'm not thinking straight - when am I ever - and Agatha looks almost scared of me. I'm an alien to her, and we're speaking completely different languages. "...Hi."

"Oh shit, yeah, we already did that bit." My nerves are getting the best of my words. She nods slowly as I shove more clothes into my dresser, and all but fall onto the drawer to shut them. My heart feels like it's tumbling down a hill of broken boulders and snapped trees.

"Uh, so," I stammer. _Merlin, no wonderSnow never talks. Infuriating._ "I saw you leave, and you looked kind of upset. I was just wondering if you were okay, and I know that we don't really exactly _talk_ a lot, but I just felt like I should check on you, y'know? I mean, you're my roommate, I'm the only one who can really get in here, I guess it make some sense. Does it? Is this weird?"

Agatha blinks and reaches for her lacrosse sticks. My ribs begin to ache, not even the heat and pressure from my hand is easing it. "It makes sense," she replies. "It's not weird. I'm okay."

"Yeah, but, are you really?"

"I'm fine."

I point to the stick in her hands and raise my eyebrows. "Practice isn't on today."

"My practice is."

"The weather's shit."

"I'm practicing in the gym."

 _Duh._ _Shut up now, please._ If Agatha didn't hate me before, she's going to find me insufferable by the end of this conversation. My heart is already trying to break out of my ribs. Its hard to mask. All of my words are forced out in heaves of heavy breaths, and I can see that Agatha is noticing. "Can I join you?"

 _Why? Why do I hate myself?_ "Of course, go change."

And she smiles at me, smooth and gorgeous. The uncomfortable buzz in my chest becomes an issue for later, my eye-lids droop slightly when she looks at me, even though she's _definitely_ judging me for the dumb face I'm pulling. Mouth open, barely still awake, it's a sight for a caricature. Even so, she giggles.

"You okay?" She pushes a rogue strand of hair, too short for her ponytail, behind her ear.

Snapping back to reality, I nod and laugh, the hum in my ribs rising again. "Yeah. I'll get changed, meet you out on the grass."

"Okay. And hey!"

She's almost out the door, I'm already nursing my anxiety, but I put on a cool, collected face and turn to her. She glances at the hand I'm digging into my ribs, but doesn't dwell. "Yeah?"

"Don't keep me waiting."

"I won't."

The door closes. As I listen through the wall to her skipping down the stairs, my hands push through my hair and quake. Scrambling over my bed and and tearing through drawers, I can't find my stress relief sweets anywhere. Why now? Of all times, this has to happen _now?_

The wind beats at the glass and sends fear spiralling through my bones, but it gives me an idea. Agatha's sheets and blankets crumple as I leap across the room and open the window with a burst of desperation. Cold wind redirects the tears on my cheeks way back to touch my hair line. Finally, the air is thin enough to process through my straining lungs. The world already looks clearer, and although I'm exhausted, adrenaline courses through my brain on a high.

Everything will be fine. Everything will be just fine.

 

+++

 

**Agatha**

 

Emily and I got about an hour of practice before she started getting distressed.

I didn't really see it happening. It was just the general shakiness, the way she could barely get a grip on her stick. I should have seen it when she walked in; it was so unlike her. Usually she brings an enthuastic energy, her aura decrees there be happiness wherever she goes. This time, though, she walked in with small steps, hands wringing as she approached me.

It was when we were passing the ball between us that it flared. All I did was drop my stick, but a few metres away Emily yelped and covered her mouth. Within seconds she was weeping, crumbling to the ground.

"Em!" I call out, running over to her. Even though she was crying, a smile surfaced on her face.

"Just anxiety, it's fine, it happens all the time."

It was then that I saw how unstable it was. I fussed around, trying to see how I could help. Our ball, incidentally made of rubber, lies between us. To be fair, I'm not familiar ö how to help with anxiety, so I thrust the ball into her hands and prompted her to squeeze it. When she laughed, I could see her lose some control, and squeezing the ball wasn't helping as much as I'd hoped. It did, however, provide a good distraction. I knelt beside Emily with a hand on her back, doing my best to help, even though I had no idea how. All I knew; Emily wasn't okay, and I was going to be with her until it was over.

The doors burst open and a pair of hard heeled shoes run towards us, clicking and clacking their way over. Before long, Baz is beside me as well, fishing a small tin from out of his jeans.

"Em, hey, are you okay? Did you bring your stress medication?" He asks sweetly, rubbing her tears away. She shakes her head. "That's because you left them with me, Em."

She falls onto his shoulder as he twists the tin open. They aren't medication, really; they're sweets that have calming things in them, like chamomile tea or whatever. The small purple lollies went under her tongue in turns, and I moved her hair out of her face and wiped her tears up. It was all I could think to do.

"Baz, what's happening? Is she okay?" I fussed.

Baz rubbed her back slowly and held her close. "She has pretty shit anxiety, it's been getting worse. She'll be okay, though." He turns back to Emily. "Right, Em? You'll be okay."

Emily's sobs were untamed, they shot out like moths hitting light-bulbs - sporadic, electric. In a last attempt to help her out, I moved to her other side and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, letting out a deep sigh. It was selfish, but I couldn't help hiding slightly in her hair. After a while (and Baz's blessing), I helped her back to our room.

Sitting together beside the window, now we're at a loss of what to say. Her bed wasn't made when we walk in, and to be fair, it never is, so we're huddled up on my bed against the wall. Blankets are wrapped around us and we've managed to use all of the pillows in the room. "Em, talk to me," I plead softly. "Tell me something. Anything. Let's just talk."

Emily apologises far too much for things she can't help, and after living with her for seven years, I'm surprised that I haven't seen this before. The firecracker personality and tendency to laugh far too much at things that aren't all that amusing seem to be a good cover for her, but I'm more concerned that this went on under my nose and I couldn't help.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"Hey, don't be."

"I ruined your practice."

"We can practice later!"

"I'm just going to hold you back."

"Emily, _no_."

I hold her tighter and rests my head on her shoulder. Her breathing is evening out slowly as I play with the ends of her hair. It's damp from the rain, but it's still soft and smells like raspberries and winter. Our legs are over-lapping, crossing each other in a comfortable mess. I'm practically on her lap. She's running the tip of her index finger up and down the inside of my forearm. It feels safe, like falling asleep.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers.

All is quiet for a moment. She smells like a memory of bonfire night; cold, and warm all the same. I hug her arm and nuzzle right into the crook of her neck, closing my eyes. "Tell me about Baz."

"What about him?" She asks, sounding more pissed off than I intended to make her. "He's my friend, that's all."

 _Don't mess this up, Agatha_. "He seems so protective of you. It's lovely."

Emily only shrugs with the shoulder I'm not leaning on. We're both quiet for a moment. It's my fault, and it's drilling a hole beneath my heart. After a minute or so, Emily leans her head on mine. "It is nice," she admits. "I mean, we haven't got anyone else here; just a couple of misfits. Not like you, and Snow, and Bunce; everyone loves you. People treat Baz and I like a disease. The novelty wears off after a while."

She chuckles, but it's miserable and hollow. We gravitate closer together, and I turn my head to press my lips to her shoulder, over top of her t-shirt. "M'feeling remarkably unloved, then," I mumble. I don't mean to, but I take her hand and play with her fingers. "Is Baz like a brother to you?"

I look up and see her smile fondly, staring over to the posters and photos on her wall. "He is. It's nice knowing someone is looking out for you."

"He's so much softer with you. I expected him to be a lot more harsh." _Blame Simon for that_ , I want to add, but I bite my tongue.

Emily grimaces a bit. "He's not evil. You know he has siblings? He's such a fucking sap with them, I find it hilarious. He lets them do his hair, make up, gives 'em piggy back rides..."

This isn't the Baz Pitch I know. Or at least, the Baz Pitch I know _of_. Everything I've ever known about him, I got from Simon and and Penny (given they're the ones who hang him the most), but hearing this from Emily...it's truly something to behold.

"That's so sweet," I comment, smiling. I shut my eyes again and breathe in Emily's scent. Hearing her breathe evenly again relieves me of my own worry. Knowing she's okay is all I want right now. "And to think, they all want him out."

"I mean, he's just a bit rough around here, I suppose."

I nod. "Because of Simon?"

"Yeah."

"What's their deal anyway? I mean, from a biased point of view, Simon's always tried to get along with Baz, and Baz tried to kill Simon."

Emily bites her lip and sighs. "I...I can't tell you. It's not really mine to tell, but if I could...I would."

She curls up a bit more and taps her knuckles profusely. With all that's going on right now, I can understand why she'd want to keep it all a secret. Plus, it's the noble thing to do.

I'm not so noble.

"I'm going to break up with Simon," I state, staring at my hands. "That's why I was upset today, it's why I'm always upset. I can't keep dragging him along like we have a chance, when I'm almost certain that we don't. I can't keep worrying myself sick that one day he won't come back from a mission. Besides, I don't...I don't love him."

Emily places a hand on mine. It's soft and warm, and it reminds me of the nights I used to spend by the fireplace, reading books and drinking hot chocolates. "So, why don't you?"

Its like I'm touching static. "Who do I have apart from them? Who will ever have me apart from Simon and Penny? I want them to be my friends - nothing more."

I must sound like a right fool. Nobody keeps a skeleton around for good times and laughs; once Simon and I are done, that's it. I lose. Emily doesn't move, save for the tapping, but she looks at me like Simon used to. Because she _wants_ to. Soft, warm...

"You'll have me," she decides, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry it's taken six years years to get here."


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information on Amulet - Baz joins the team - Simon and Agatha talk.

**Simon**

  
Penny and I spend a further hour and a half in the dining hall, discussing demons. We make extensive lists of possible resources and where to find them. Penny is intense, far more interested on this than me. She leaves no stone unturned, spares no possibilities to weed out the information we need (even teacher interrogations under harsh light passes with her: good cop, bad cop style). There's no one left in the dining hall by the time it gets to the very end of our 'study session'. Just before we agree to part ways and call it a night, Penny hands me a blank piece of ripped paper.

"Three questions," is all she elaborates to it.

"Pardon?"

"Write down three questions about these demons that you have," she goes on, gathering up her books in her arms. "This will help us find more information and give us direction for the investigation."

A weepy groan escape my throat. "You're making this sound a lot like a research project," I complain, slumping back into my seat.

"Simon, that's exactly what this is. Please keep up."

I'll admit: I'm not the best at inference. In fact, I'm 73% sure that I'm the worst. Reading situations and phrases, adding context, it all muddles up somewhere in my head.

When I get back up to my dorm, Baz is awkwardly splayed out on his bed, leg hanging off the side, reading some crusty looking book with an intense stare set on his page. His grey top is so tight that I can see the shallow contours of his chest, sort of like ripples over moonlit water. Short, well-kept nails tap slowly and evenly against the hardcover of what looks to be an old journal, judging by the initials engraved on the black cover (in _gold_ ). Importantly, it reminds me that Baz knows about the amulet - he's probably planning to sabotage us. More importantly, he's _still_ not with Emily. There's something wrong in this picture - his jacket is a heaped mess over the end of his bed, is usually perfect, raven hair disheveled at the sides, and a tin of purple sweets spilling over onto his duvet. If I wasn't so convinced that he and Emily are up to no good, I'd almost think that something is wrong.

"I'm going to ask you one more time, Baz; where's your friend?" I demand pointedly, shutting the door harder than usual. I  _should_ expect less than an answer from Baz, but blind ambition is a hardwired skill of mine. Penny calls me 'Lady Macbeth' (and sometimes jokes with Agatha about 'ripping boneless gums from my boobs', or something). I don't understand the reference. 

Baz drops his book to his lap and sighs. The veins on his arms pop out and shift smoothly as his muscles move and constrict (I can't _believe_ Agatha doesn't find him attractive - no, really. I don't believe her). He looks exhausted, almost asleep. The infamous jeans that have mysteriously appeared after six years of non-existence are hanging below the waistband of his boxers. "Where's yours?" He mumbles, distracted by the (ever interesting) ceiling.

"I asked you first."

He violently sticks his hands out to his sides. "Can I read?"

" _Not_ until you tell me where Emily is."

It doesn't show in my edited, glorified written dialogue, but I stumble and stammer over my words, barely getting them out. They break, stall, like a broken typewriter. Its a curse. I'm constantly tripping over undetectable hurdles. 

Judging by his expression, Baz seems pretty tired of it, too. I almost want to apologise for even trying. He groans far too dramatically to be his usual posh self. It's odd to see him so relaxed, for once. Usually he acts like he's made of. "She went to practice lacrosse with Agatha. Now would you shut the fuck up and mind your own business? Or do I have to spell your mouth shut like I did your laptop?"

"You did _wha-_?!" He points his wand at me. "Okay, m'kay...why?"

"Because your voice is actually a death sentence to listen t-"

" _No._ Why did she go with Agatha?"

Baz shrugs and puts his wand (weapon) down. "I told her to."

And with that, the air leaves the room. I want to scream. I want to deck him. I _knew_ it. They're always up to something, those two, and this is just another one of their plots to get in the way of my life. That must be why Baz is suddenly interested in the amulet and his old journals - _he's_ behind the demons. They're a pair of villains in boarding school uniforms. The thought of Baz trying to hurt Agatha - breaking the unspoken rule between us - sets me on course to go off. Magic radiates out of my pores and through the air, like smoke from an out of control bonfire. 

"Where are they?"

"Snow-"

" _Tell me!_ "

"Crowley, you smell like you smoke a pack a day." He fans the air with a stray t-shirt, coughing obnoxiously. "They were in the gym. Look, it's dark now, they probably went in. Stop prying, would you? Can I read, now?"

My nostrils flare (token party trick) as I try to calm down. "Are you trying to get at Agatha?"

"I- what? No! Fuck's sake, Snow. Wellbelove isn't on my agenda."

"Well, if it isn't that, then what is it? Did you have to escape the insufferable romantic tension between you and Emily? Were you choking?"

Our eyes meet, and I know I must be right; he's melting, loving and happy for once, even if he isn't smiling. He manages to force out a laugh without smiling, but the delay is proof enough. "You don't know how wrong you are, Snow. Now fuck off."

I roll my eyes smugly and walk over to my bed when I notice something different. Two jersies - one blue, one grey - set out on top of my duvet. They're folded and tucked up, crease free, like they've been ironed that way. The wool is soft and warm, as if they've been sewn out of blankets. Something about them seems familiar, but I can't put my finger on what it is.

I hold them up and turn to Baz. "Hey-"

"Shut up."

"Whose are these?"

Baz gives a generous glance to me and presses his lips into a thin line. "Yours, Snow," he sighs. "They're on _your_ bed. Can you at least attempt inference one day?"

"But-"

"The Mage had them sent here. Shut up."

 _The Mage?_ I stroke the fabric tentatively. He really sent these? They seem so extravagant, expensive...surely he can't have done this. Then again, perhaps it's an apology, or proof that he does, in fact, care about me. He's not just out to use me like a soldier, and game piece...he does love me, somewhat.

I slip the blue one on and curl up in the corner of my bed. For the first time that day, something feels _right_. If only it didn't smell like Baz's bloody bathroom aftermath.

 

+++

 

**Baz**

He looks adorable in blue.

 

+++

 

**Agatha**

Simon is waiting for me out in front of the Wood, golden skin glowing in the amber light of the sunrise. It's right at the edge of our curfew, but that doesn't stop either of us. He sends me a soft, sad smile and ushers me to sit next to him. The ground is ice and we're the fire - the world around us just melts away. Regret and dread hum in the air between us, and I'm weighing out what I should say to him.

"I like your sweater," I note, touching his arm. It feels so wrong.

"Thanks. It's a gift from the Mage."

He does look nice in blue, I remember that. I stare at the freckles on his jaw and sigh. Am I really about to do this? Am I about to admit to myself that maybe I'm not going to have the future I expected? I desperately want to believe that Simon and I can salvage this, live the safe life, but I just can't bring myself to gush over him like I used to...

"I think we need to talk," I whispered, just louder than the wind breezing through the leaves at the top of the trees.

He bites his lip and nods. "We do."

"Because I can't love you anymore, and I know that much."

His eyes close. Pause. "Mutual."

"But you're still the greatest friend I've ever had, Simon, and I really don't want to lose that. This...this is everything, for me."

His closed heart opens slightly, eyes showing themselves as he leans back on his hands. A wrinkle creases between his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I- You know what I mean."

"No... C'mon, tell me."

My voice is small and timid. "...I can't lose you and Penny. You're the only friends I have here."

Even as I say it, I can still hear Emily's promise. _I'll be here_... And I can't be happier to know that. Simon and Penny are still my best friends though. Simon won't approve of Emily anyway. Emily goes hand-in-hand with Baz, and despite the conversation from the night before, I don't even know if _I_ approve of that.

Simon exhales and chucks an arm around my shoulders. I rest the weight of my worry on his arm and relax. It's platonic, between us, and it's absolutely what I need right now. "Agatha, you know we love you too much to let you go like that."

I can't hide the smile on my face, not that anyone can see it. "Really?"

"Really," he whispers, squeezing me tight.

Somehow, I think everything will turn out just fine.

+++

The light on Emily's side of the room is glowing dim in the darkness of our closed-curtain room. She's sitting on her bed, against the wall, chewing on her thumbnail as I step in. Her eyes are hopeful and hollow, and I can't bear to think that I might have frightened her with my disappearing act.

"I broke up with Simon," I state as I edge closer to her. My words are far heavier than I mean for them to be. The reality of it is setting in, though. I just lost my boyfriend. The closest person I had at this school. I've lost that deep, intimate connection with him, and I'll never get that back.

"You okay?" Emily asks, leaning forward.

I nod. There are tears rolling out of my eyes, hot like newspapers off the press. _This Just In: Watford School or Hotel Heartbreak?_ Emily stands up and hugs me without question. We sway side to side, embraced in each other, just for a while. After being out in the cold for so long, it's nice to feel her warmth.

"You did the right thing," she whispers.

"Thank you," I reply, just as quiet. "Thank you so, so much."

 

+++

 

**Simon**

After the conversation which Agatha, I'm too miserable to go find Penny. Nothing in my head feels like being awake - a nap is _definitely_ in order. The timetables still haven't arrived for us, so I'm guessing that we don't have classes today. Either that, or Baz has ripped mine up already. Probably that. I might have to thank him, for once - I don't feel like going to class anyway. A day of sleeping is all I need. Surely.

After what must have been three hours, though, I'm awoken by a sharp jolt to my bed. It completely snaps me out of my Agatha trance. Baz stands over me, clutching the old journal in his hands, looking furious and tired. My bones and click and crack like a book spine as I sit up to stare him down. The tosser isn't even wearing a shirt. He's practically carved from marble, he's so pale. _Spare me in the mornings, would you, Basilton? You might blind me_.

"Snow, wake up!" He announces, kicking my bed again. "You'll want to hear this!"

"What do you want?" I slur out, tired. I scrape away the dry tears under my eyes. Today is not a good day to be disturbed.

"Demons. An amulet. You're looking for them?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm helping you."

"Says who?"

"Says me. Listen, I know what you're looking for, and you're going to need my help. So, in advance, you're welcome. Right now, get up."

That's a sketchy business offer (if you can call it an 'offer'). He knows what we're looking for? How much is willing to share? _What's the catch?_ He looks pissed off enough, but as if I needed any more proof, he throws his journal onto my chest. It's sharp and heavy as slams onto my ribs. " _Ow?_ "

"Read it."

Dust billows out of the pages as I crack it open, snapping the binding. It's covered in intricate calligraphy, all written in Latin, with fluorescent post-it notes stuck on the sides for English translations.

"The amulet you and Bunce were talking about, with all the notes in the air and the _bloody_ ink smell, is far more dangerous than you think."

Baz's handwriting is a mission to read, all cursive and fancy, but I can make out the words ' _fiery beings of shadow and light_ ' and ' _to take a vessel of blood and bone_ '. Sketchy drawings of petrified faces surrounded in shrouds of black mist litter the journal's page corners. "They summon fire?" I ask, pointing to the note he's made.

He sighs. "That actually says fierce, but whatever. Technically, one of them does. They aren't so much demons as they are sentient forms of the natural elements. Fire, air, earth, water...the point is, they're powerful and dangerous."

"...And possess people?"

He shakes his head. "Not necessarily. It said that they'd _take_ a vessel of blood and bone. Possession, kidnapping, murder...they'll take a body by any means necessary; one way or another, you burn."

Thunder booms outside, and the rain thrashes down onto the moat. A chilling shock courses through my bones. "So, this isn't just a storm, is it?"

He shakes his head. "No. My guess is Air; it must be able to manipulate weather."

He's sitting on his bed jiggling his leg and breathing heavily through his nose. I can see it from here: the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders, the subtle movements of his lips as air passes through...he's really ticked about something. He won't even look at me. It's starting to scare me.

"Baz, why do you care?"

He pauses to glare at me, and snatches his journal back. "You won't understand, Snow."

"If you're going to tag in on this, you're going to tell me what's going on." He looks up at me, and I've never seen him so innocent, vulnerable. _Broken_. "I'll understand, I promise."

He snarls slightly, if only to keep up appearances. This is the most civilised Baz and I have ever been (and will ever be, at this rate). "The amulet wasn't stolen from the Mage. It was stolen from the Coven - from my _house_. We were protecting it under lock...and lock and lock...and key. It was our duty to keep it safe; my father's ancestors passed the responsibility to us. The Mage's men stormed the house and took it."

An abyss opens in my chest and I tumble down it. I want to believe that he's lying, that the Mage is a better man than that, but how could I even prove that to myself? "It wasn't broken when they stole it?"

Baz is shocked that I'm believing him, which might be understandable, but still pushes me further along the edge. He shakes his head. "It wasn't, I'm sure of it."

Even as I try to speak, I can feel myself getting more and more upset. Everything I know about the World of Mages is wrong, its changing, and it's out of my hands. The man I've looked up to as a father figure for so long, a villain, surely. He has to be. It's the only way this could make sense. Suddenly, I don't even want to _look_ at the new sweaters the Mage gave me.

"We'll need help," I declare, trying hard to keep my speech consistent (and I still stumble, with wince for the pain in my dignity). "Get Emily and Agatha, I'll get Penny."

He breathes deep and nods, pulling a shirt on from the corner of his uncharacteristically messy bed. We stand and walk out to the stairwell. I'm almost at the bottom of the stairs when Baz grabs me by my hair and yanks me back. "This means nothing, Snow - but I won't kill you, if you're worried."

He shoves me forward and curls his lip with menace. It would bring me far too much strain to try and fight him this early, so I shoot him a near lethal glare and shrug him off. Typical Baz. Bloody tosser when he needs to be.

"Just get the girls, you prick."


	4. 4

**Baz**

  
Now, listen - I'm not saying that I pulled Snow's hair to fulfill some sexy desire of mine, but I must admit to the rush of ecstasy that went straight to my head.

Unpredictable, yet not all that shocking. I'll admit that it makes me feel guilty. Not because I hurt him - no, never - but because I know that it was a step closer to him. The magic in my body surged faster than it had before, lunging further into the unwelcoming embrace of my curse to love Simon Snow. I wanted to kiss him right there and then, feel his hot lips burn me, let myself forget for a while that I'm flammable and he's the fire. Of course, I didn't do that. I didn't kiss him, or hug him, or let him feel like he belonged. There's a line I have to stay behind, for the safety of _both_ of us, and even getting involved with Snow and his crazy murder missions is a leap beyond my limits.

Holding back, pulling back, it's all I've ever done.

It's all I'll always do.

Breakfast is still being served when I walk down to find the girls, per Sergeant Snow's orders. It's odd to think of Emily and Agatha as a pair, but I'm glad it's happened. Not only does it help Emily out, but it gets under Snow's skin just right. I mean, why wouldn't it? His girlfriend is getting friendly with her roommate, who happens to be obligatory best friends with his evil nemesis (also roommates). It's hilarious to watch him writhe with ever-growing hatred. He truly might be hitting his nadir.

As I stride through past tables and trail the eye of nervous (or pissed - I can never tell) onlookers, I spot Emily in the far corner of the dining hall all alone. Sheltered by shadows that haven't been touched by the light of the morning, she looks as dismal as the rainfall outside, which must be at its peak by now. She's exhausted just like the table she's sat at. Her fingers trace the cracks and scratches in the old, dust coated wood. The morning's fresh cakes and scones are all still sitting on their plate in the center, cooling by the second under her dismissive gaze. The closer I get to her, the more I worry.

"You okay?" I ask tentatively, sitting beside her. A cool breeze sways through the hall, and we both shiver slightly. Her honey-blond streaks that riddle through her natural dark brown hair all shift and lose their place. "You seem upset."

Emily doesn't look up at me. Instead, she plays with the shining silver charm on her necklace. It's a small circle pendant with her name and star sign (Scorpio) engraved into the back of it. It was a gift from my step-mother, Daphne, last Christmas. Emily is rather fond of it. "I'm good," she whispers. "M'just tired. You know how it is."

"Did you have another-" She nods. Panic attack. That's the third this week. "Worse?"

She shakes her head and sips her too-hot-tea with a grimace and a wince. "No. Honestly, it wasn't even bad at all. I just- Agatha was gone when I woke up. My brain did a dumb thing. Nothing major. Doesn't matter."

She stands up, ignoring the plate of food all together and walks away from me. Her attacks have been going on for so long, but never like this. Never thrice in a week. Never frequent. I grab her elbow gently and turn her around to face me, earning smug looks from other pupils (pricks). Her eyes are hollow and distracted, surrounded by dark, folding skin. She's more pale than usual, too, her dark freckles really pop out more in the dull, kaleidoscope light from the eccentric stained glass mural.

"Where was Wellbelove?" I ask, standing up. If they're going to be getting close to each other now, I need to know if Miss Wellbelove is going to be there for Emily 100% of the time.

A voice in my head reminds me of how hard that is.

A voice in my head reasons: _"You can't be too upset if she isn't there all the time."_

I'm currently choosing to ignore the voice in my head until further notice. (I'm stubborn, it's what I do).

Emily yawns and stretches out her chest as we walk out through the overwhelmingly large dining hall doors. Even with her mouth being unwillingly forced open by her own exhaustion, I can see her smirk. "Oh, she was out...breaking up with Snow."

 _What?!_ I can't be hearing her right. They're over? Finally? Oh, it's selfish, but I can't help smiling. Emily grins at me and pushes my shoulder. "Really?" I almost giggle. _Almost._

"Yeah. Said something about a sweater that the Mage gave him...any chance you've lost a couple of sweaters, Baz?"

 _Shit_. Emily looks as smug as a bloody Cheshire cat. For once, I actually regret feeding this morning - this is one time I don't envy normal people, with blood. And feelings. My face feels warm, and it must look odd for me to actually have colour back to my face. Damn blushing. "Look, he was cold," I defend. "I just don't to deal with him coughing up a lung at three in the morning."

"You're in _looove!_ "

" _Shh!_ "

Emily giggles and bumbles along beside me, linking her arm through mine as we walk. It's as though she's forgotten about everything that happened this morning, as if amnesia kicked in and reminded her that everything is okay.

Just as she intends to walk out into the main corridor, I pull her over to the staircase that leads to her dorm. Snow is going to pay for making me even consider this option. To ask my _best friend_ to dive right into a combat on demons feels _wrong._ As a nervous habit (that Emily _undoubtedly_ picks up on), I suck on my fangs as I finalise my next decision. I'm going to regret this, I know, but I may have no choice - plus, this might be the best way to keep everyone safe.

"Can you go get Wellbelove?" I ask quietly, scanning the corridor for any floating listeners.

Emily steps away from me and raises an eyebrow. I know she'll be as protective as Agatha as I am of Emily. Possible complications seem to only be growing. "...Why?"

A group of girls pass us by, glancing at us and smiling and giggly, far too giddy for my liking (probably because I'm holding Emily's wrist and we're standing closer than usual) (bloody heteronormativity). We wait for them to get out of our range before I continue. Emily's eyes are burning into me with every passing silent second.

"Do you remember that thing I told you about? The amulet?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what's inside?"

Her eyes widen, glancing out at the slowly growing tempest that attacks our school walls, with lashings of rain and wind strong enough to rip a forest out. "Oh no."

I grimace and rub her arm. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. Given that Emily is far better at thinking outside the box than I am though, and confident in the face of real danger (you wouldn't think so, but her anxiety is purely unreasonable), we're going to need her. Already, I can see her mind going to the worst possible scenarios. This won't end well.

"There's something we need you both for."

 

+++

 

**Agatha**

After meeting with Simon this morning, Emily had comforted me in silence, to help me think about everything that had happened. Since then, though, we'd gone back to sleep. It was pretty much bliss, holding her close to me, feeling whole and empty all at once. There was a point when I was awake but Emily wasn't, and she wouldn't stop mumbling and whispering in waves of Spanish and English. Barely, I only just make out the words _'they're coming..._ _enfoques malos..._ _they're here..._ _las sombras_ _'_ which was slightly worrying. Not enough to stop me from falling asleep, though - I'm already exhausted from today.

Now that I'm awake again though, suddenly aware of the aching pulses in my temples and nose, I realise I'm alone in her bed. The blankets don't seem to quite fend off the cold winds outside. With each moment passing, I can hear the wind growing more and more aggressive. It's an intense battle against the window, I'm half expecting the glass to crack at any moment. I suppose though, being in Emily's bed, I'm safe from any flying glass.

Just as I'm shuffling back to the wall in an attempt to salvage anymore more warmth, a rushed, dull thump of someone running up the stairs beside our room sounds heavy and urgent, and startles me to sit up. Emily swings through the door, looking exhausted and about ready to drop. Her eyes are wild and petrified. "Agatha, they need us."

"Emily?"

"It's about the lock-down."

"Slow down.".

"No, Agatha- _Agatha_ , it's bad."

 

+++

 

**Emily**

It's so unclear. I'm sobbing, holding onto the banister of of Agatha's bed. I can't focus on a single thing in my head, everything is so _loud_ and _urgent_. Worse than that, I can't see clearly - everything is blurring and fading, too bright to stand. This isn't a normal panic attack, it can't be. This hasn't happened before. As I'm staring straight ahead to the carpet, staring into a void of fear, Agatha hurdles over bed sheets and stray shoes to kneel in front of me and take my face in her hands. She's saying something, but I can't process it at all.

"Emily!" Is all I hear, before everything stops.

I can't see what's right in front of me anymore; only the pitch black cover in the foreground of my mind. Everything is silent for a few seconds. Calm. Like standing outside on cool night and counting the number of lights are on in the street. I've stopped breathing, I think. It feels like I'm gagging. It's almost numb. Almost ideal.

And then, it's destroyed.

Angry flares of red and orange burst out of nothing, shocking me into screaming for my life. There's no saying what they are, but I know they're dangerous. Quietly, in the back of mind, I can hear shrieks of horror and despair, as a small golden glint flies through the chaos. It's in slow-motion, but it feels so fast. Too much is happening at once. I'm not even sure that I'm in my own body anymore.

"Em?"

Then I hear her.

"Em!"

Then I _see_ her.

"Em, what's going on?"

And then I just know.

"You're going to die," I tell her, catatonic and monotone. The words fall out before I can know them well, before I can process what they really _mean_. "They'll take you first."

And then I crash.

 

+++

 

**Agatha**

Emily and I meet the others in the library for the scheduled meeting that Emily could only barely tell me about. She dazed in and out of her sleep so fast, I could barely get a sentence out of her in time. Baz all but sprints over to us when he sees his best friend draped over my lap, unconscious. We're sitting in one of the bay window seats, utterly exhausted - Emily from her attack, me from carrying her here (she, very sleepily, insisted on seeing Baz). Emily's prediction is still playing on my mind. Hearing that you're going to die - that you'll be the first of any number - is less than reassuring.

In one swift move, Baz takes a final stride and kneels down beside us. He fusses with Emily's hair and desperately tries to stop it from falling into her face.

"What happened to her?" But he already knows. "Em? You okay? Em. _Emily_."

"She's been like this since she got to our room. She's just sleeping. Right now though, we might have a bigger issue on our hands."

Simon and Penny had trailed in sometime after Baz, and Emily is still out cold on my thigh. My voice is thin and tired, wavering as I explain everything that happened back in the dorm. Baz gets more and more stoic as I speak, hand over mine and Emily's when I repeat what Emily had told me. Simon doesn't say anything, which (bless him) isn't surprising considering his habits, but Penny seems to know something I don't about it. It's like she's stopped listening all together, and is trying to piece together her own mystery.

A grim haze falls over the five of us. "What are you thinking?" I ask Penny.

Her eyes narrow as she chooses her words, a hooked finger pressed against her mouth as she thinks. "I think Emily has a Gift," she responds moments later, not sounding too sure herself. "Maybe...it's only a hypothesis."

We all stare at her, confused. "A gift?" I question.

Penny stretches her arms out and tightens her ponytail. Thank goodness for Penny - without her, we'd be blind as bats in the face of a puzzle. "Gifts are super-sensory, or sometimes super-ability, enhancements that are almost a side-effect of magic. They're uncommon, but quite a few people possess them."

Without noticing, I've started stroking Emily's hair back against her forehead. Simon grimaces when he sees it and swallows visibly, but we both manage to force a smile for each other. I think we're both still a bit raw from last night.

"What's hers then?" I ask.

Penny struggles to find the phrase. "I'm guess fortune telling, or some destiny shit. She's like a prophesier, or an Oracle. Psychic-ness, to put it down officially."

Baz seems to agree pretty quickly, especially considering that if Penny _is_ right, that means my life is in danger. It almost seems familiar to him. They've been so close for so long, he _must_ have known it was something, but I'll get the answers from him later.

"What did you guys need to tell us?" I ask, distracting from the imminent threat of my death.

"Demons," Simon declares, just as Penny begins writing in the air. "Here's what we know."

 

+++

 

**Baz**

I hate to give Bunce the credit, but everything makes sense now.

No wonder Emily knew I was gay from the first second she saw me, or that I'm hopelessly chasing after Snow, or that some dickhead vampires stuck his teeth in my neck when I was too young to know what a vampire was - never mind death. It won't escape me; the shame I feel for not noticing earlier. How could I have all of these bloody vampire (pun not intended, though _well_ appreciated) abilities, and still be so blind?

And if this is all true...

Bunce is rambling on about stuff I've already been filled in on regarding the Mage, and the amulet. I can't really blame Bunce for referring to the Elementals as demons, because that's exactly what they are. They exist to create evil. They're chaos with dangerous ways of manipulation. Weather, fire, earthquakes, floods...in all of the stories I've read, they create infinite danger and disaster. I'm starting to think that with any great break-through idea we have, we still won't stand a chance. Still, an attempt isn't a hopeless option.

For some reason, Snow is a very quiet person. Being the infuriatingly kiss-arse hero that he is, you'd think he'd be the star of the show. You'd expect him to be mouthing off at this and that, talking himself raw. Instead, though, he just listens patiently and swings his legs from the chair he's sat on. His sleeves are tugged over his hands and he's holding the ends to his palms.

Crowley, he looks good in grey.

"What exactly did Em say to you?" I ask Agatha when Bunce stops for breath.

Agatha shifts. She's touching Emily's face, fingers stroking her jaw and cheekbones gently. I have to contain my urge to bat them away and tuck Emily up in a bundle _away_ from the Magelings. After all, this is what Emily would want (love). "She said 'You're going to die. They're going to take you first.' In context, it certainly makes a lot more sense...I wish it didn't."

We all exchange grave looks and Snow sighs. Sometimes I wonder if he's nervous to talk, or if it's just a habit. Part of me wants to encourage him, motivate him to speak up and not mind his stumbles. The other part of me wants to curl up on the couch with him and keep him as warm as I physically can, tell him that it's okay, he doesn't have to speak at all - _he's perfect._ And a third, uninvited side to me is screaming at me to poke and prod his insecurity of it, insult him and strengthen the barricades between us. I hate that part of me, and yet it's the one I choose to feed. Snow stays silent, though, and Bunce carries on with her spiel about what we should do. He looks disappointed, and Bunce is staring at him like a concerned mother. I suppose Snow is to Bunce as Emily is to me - best friend, who needs to be protected at all costs.

No wonder Bunce hates me.

"We could just talk to it?" She suggests dismissively. No one is really enthusiastic about the plan anymore. Now that we know people are going to die - Agatha, of all people - we don't really want to dabble in any art of destiny chasing. "Maybe?"

"We should tell an adult," Agatha pipes up, predictably. "Maybe we can curve fate."

"It doesn't work like that," I mumble.

Agatha's voice is suddenly small. "I know."

When Snow lifts his head, eyes wet and scarlet, I start to pay attention. Why is he crying? Or, for what reasons _isn't_ he crying? Crowley, first his girlfriend breaks up with him, now she's going to die? I do not envy Snow, today.

"The amulet," he mumbles out, barely making consonants. He seems ashamed of his effort, and deep under all of my malicious desire, I know that he shouldn't be. Not at all. Suppressing the urge to insult him is the worst feeling, because it reminds me that I hate him, and I don't want to hate him. Fitfully, I swallow my pride for a second and decide to help him out. After all, we're fighting the same battle now. Emily's voice is ringing in my head; " _You're getting soft, Baz..._ "

"Snow's right," I blurt out, earning shocked stares from the group. "We need to find the amulet before we do anything else. If we find it, we can do some research, see what we do from there. Maybe we can stop this all before anyone gets hurt."

Snow gives me a small, hesitant smile, still tipping the edge of uncertainty. Rightfully so - I have to balance the scales back somehow. If I'm not careful, I'll end up being his friend. I nod back at him - _Be civilised, you're on the same team._

This is going to hurt.


	5. 5

**Emily**  
My head is blazing with pain when I wake up from my post-episode crash. It feels like someone has just placed a cinder block on my head, and won't stop pushing down on it. It takes me a few seconds to realise that I'm leaning on Baz's chest, his nervous sigh of relief creating a noticable deflation through his sternum. We're sat alone in the library, in one of the window seats with moss green velour upholstery, and a disappointing lack of gold spun pillows to match the tassles that hang off the edge of the seat. Of course there's no one else around, seeing as we're all on lock down and everyone is too afraid to even cross the courtyard to get here. I vaguely remember making Agatha drag me here for the meeting, but Baz is the only one that stayed. Seems like it'll _all_ end that way at this point.

"G'morning." Baz is grinning slightly on one side, which is a bad sign already.

"Shut up."

"Fair enough." He shifts his hair to the side and strokes my hair lightly. His voice is still as bored as ever, and I try hard to seek comfort in the small part of my life that _hasn't_ changed dramatically; Baz will always be unbelievably bored with the world. (He says it's a half-dead thing). "You had me worried there."

He gently rubs my arm and sighs again. It's cold and dismal, like the rain that falls against the window and drips into a chaotic puddle at the bottom of the pane. The swirling colours of Agatha's Fate still play over in my head. _She's going to die, she's going to die_...this day is terrible.

"So, what's the Mageling verdict on my sanity?" I mumble, pushing away from him and propping the over-eccentric pillows up against the other side of the bay window. Strings of the golden tassels stick to the condensation on the glass. "Do they think I'm crazy?"

Baz chuckles, in the muted, pathetic way that he does. Even when it's me, even when we're facing the odds, he's forcing it out (again, it's a half-dead thing). I'm a little bit apprehensive as to why he's making the effort to be civilised. It's not like him - unless, of course, he has some thing to hide. He plays with the corner of one of the pillows for a bit, grimacing. "Bunce diagnosed you as 'Gifted.'"

I sniff spitefully and raise an eyebrow. "Is that Mageling for 'lock her up, she's in the way?'"

No amused reaction from Baz, not even a smile. Crowley, this must be bad. "They want to help, this time. We're on the same side, for now."

My eyes roll hard. "So, you got soft again? Fell desperately into those painfully boring blue eyes, swam your way to the other side, booked a week's stay up Simon Snow's arse?"

There's only so many things that make Baz laugh. Had I not been so upset about Agatha, it would actually please me to hear him genuinely chuckle, ducking his head and all. I suppose sometimes you have to laugh, though; else you'll cry instead.

It takes a lifetime, but he explains the Gift to me in great detail. Reactions, mutations, special abilities...the whole lot. After a while, I ask him (nicely, mind you) to stop referring to it as a gift. Nothing about feeling trapped, and suffocated, and seeing Agatha's youthful death, is a gift. Baz tries to tell me that it's just a name, but it still irks me. _A gift_. Not at all, not at all.

"What does it feel like?" He asks. "To get a...a _vision._ "

I close my eyes and let the colours and screams roll again, remembering the one Fate I'd seen. It's hard to do without immersing myself back into the moment. "It's like I'm not even in my body anymore. It's not me speaking. It's like the Fate is just using me as a physical projection for itself. I say what I think, no filter."

"So, like usual?"

"Shut up. Stop joking. It doesn't suit you."

He only laughs. It's still weird.

+++

Baz and I aren't even out of the library door when I stop to check my breathing again. Just a precautionary check, but not without cause. There's a tightness in my ribs that's jarring my posture. Baz stops a few metres in front of me, apprehensive as to whether I'll go off again. Everything is awkward for a moment, while I close my eyes and try to concentrate on _anything_ other than the hum in my chest and shoulders. He's far too skeptical to let it slide.

"You okay?" He asks slowly, edging towards me.

A whimper falls off my lips unallowed. By then, I know it's game over. I shoot Baz one look of warning, before my hyperventilating escalates to shrieks and screams of fear. My eyes have snapped open and won't close for anything. The veins in my head feel white hot. I can't see anything. It's just like Agatha's fate.

Everything is still blank and dark, but I can hear shrills of verbal conflict, drowned out by an intimidating boom of dictation from above. For a moment, not long enough, there's nothing. Out of the shadow comes a flicker of light, that soon engulfs me and surges me back into the present, where I find myself yelling: "It's burning, it hurts!", clutching my head in pain. Baz is holding my shoulders lightly, trying to get through to me, but it's no use.

"Em!" He tries, simultaneously trying to push my hair out of my face. " _Emilia!_ "

He's using my full name. Merlin, this is bad. My vision keeps going blurry, phasing in and out of focus.

"Talk to me, Em! What's wrong?!"

I stop. Our eyes meet. I feel hollow, absent inside. My shaky hands settle on his cold, sharp cheeks as my watery, thin voice crackles out: "You'll be exposed. Three truths will surface, else five lives will end."

+++

**Baz**

My heart, still as ever, drops to the core of the Earth, taking my breath with it. With nothing more to say, Emily collapses onto me. She's a heaving, anxious mess, quaking so hard you'd think she's a faultline. Her hand grabs mine desperately, as she weeps out, begging to every higher power she can think of for a moment of peace. In English, in Spanish, in broken French, she pleads for a mercy from herself. Selfishly, though, I'm more distracted by her prediction. Try as I might, I can't shake it off of my mind as I help her to her feet. Emily is still sobbing under my arm, but I can only pull her along so far through the halls before her knees knock together and she gives out.

"Em, hey," I barely breathe out. "Hey, you're okay. The vision is over, it's all right."

Without even realising, she's reaching and grabbing for something to hold; something to ground her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bunce rounding the corner (no doubt leaving mine and Snow's room) (she was probably on my bed, too). Emily whimpers again, slowly getting more and more upset, crying out for help; shrieking my name.

"Baz?" Bunce calls out. Its quickly follow by pitter-patter of her light, hesitant skipping toward us. "Is Emily okay?"

Among the chaos, I shake my head. "No. There was another vision."

Emily screams again. Bunce steps back, looking fearful. If she wasn't here, I'd feel far more comfortable with being soft and protective of Emily - it's a side that I still see as a weakness rather than an asset. Even so, I sit next to Emily and pull her to my chest, taking on my recently hibernated 'big brother' role. It's a _very_ different from my 'I want to kill/kiss my roommate' role (which goes hand-in-hand with 'I want to self destruct in the most painful way possible' role). Something tells me, though, that Bunce was previously unaware of this end of my personality spectrum. Her eyes are wide, alarmed, yet gentle. A subtle pout pulls on her lips, slightly parted from her heavy jaw- I can't tell if she's in awe, or horrified.

"It's okay, Little Puff," I whisper, just loud enough for both of the girls to hear. Memories of the midnights I used to spend doing this _exact_ routine with my sisters flood my head, and I find myself cuddling Emily closer. "It's okay. You'll be all right."

Maybe that's all Emily needs to hear to calm down again. Maybe that's all Bunce needs to hear to trust me in the slightest.

"Everything will be alright, Little Puff. We'll be just fine."

+++

I'm alone in the corridor outside the infirmary when Bunce takes a seat next to me on the bench. She's still at her distance, but I can tell she's making an effort to breach her comfort zone. That's something I'll always envy about Bunce - she'll do anything if it needs to be done, no matter the danger. The frozen silence between us sticks like snow to iron. It's freezing, but I reguse to leave until Emily has been checked up on by the nurse. Bunce is just determined to milk some answers out of me. In a way, we're both too scared to speak. Perhaps, in the light of the situation, this was more appropriate than a conversation.

"I hear you have sisters," she comments.

I slide my gaze over to her. "I hear you're trying to beat me for top of our year," I shoot back.

_Play nice_ , I can hear Emily saying through the air, on a stray breeze among my cerebral storm. I give Bunce a smug grin, to which she smirks. "You don't seem so bad like this, you know."

"I still want to kill your friend," I counter.

"Ah, there it is. There's Baz."

It takes an excessive amount of willpower, but I manage my usual, tedious, one-chuff chuckle. That loosens the awkward restraints between us a bit, but I'll still be careful of what I say. We both relax back onto the wall, correcting our scarves and rationing our warmth.

"I know you don't hate Simon the way you claim to, Baz," Bunce notes bluntly. "What's going on with you, anyway? You're being...not awful."

I only shrug. "Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought. Maybe Emily wants me to be nicer. Maybe I'm lying about all of this, and I'm just softening him up to break his tiny little heart."

Bunce glares at me, clearly disgusted by my sudden change in attitude. All she does is stare at me for a few minutes, like she _knows_ I'm lying, before simply stating: "I can't figure you out."

"Good," I snap, barely letting her finish her sentence.

Another wave of peace and silence gusts through the resonant hallways. Bunce isn't even calculating, or analysing our situation right now. She's just swinging her legs. Waiting. She has an ace up her sleeve, but I'm in no way ready to show my cards.

(Assuming we're playing Poker, and not some hyper-competitive game of Cheat.)

"What was the vision about?" She asks innocently.

_Shit._ I didn't even think about this. I had so much time, now I'm scrambling for an excuse to dodge her intentions. What do I do? How am I going to curve this one? If I tell her, and admit that I'm hiding something, and that it'll be _exposed_ , she might go snooping to find out first. Well, she _will_. This is Bunce, after all; the creepy Sherlock reincarnation for the 21st century.

Besides...maybe I just don't want them to know. Maybe it makes me uncomfortable. Today is as fitting a day as ever to keep up appearances, to jar their insight like the selfish prick they think (know) I am.

But maybe I won't go so far.

"We'll be faced with a challenge," I state, leaning forward on my knees. "Three truths will be told, else five lives will end."

Bunce exhales heavily. "Wow. That almost sounds..."

"Tragic?"

"...believable." _Fuck._ "Come on, Baz. I'm not an idiot. What aren't you telling me?"

My hands go weak. _T_ _oo much, too much. Think, Baz. Think!_ "I can't tell you."

"Baz-"

"Bunce, I'm not going to tell you. I can't."

I know what's coming. The great tempest that sweeps over my roof of lies, lifting tiles and weatherboards with gusts of guilt. Who would have guessed that the great, stone-cold Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch III, could be torn down by Cyclone Penelope in all her glory. She tightens her ponytail and pushes up her ridiculous, fancy dress glasses. I've seen her do this before, right before she answers a question in class, or takes a test; anytime she shows off her over-active IQ.

"We're working together now, Baz."

Not entirely true. I'm working alongside the Mageling squad, with occasional eaves-dropping. "Conditionally."

"You have to keep us updated."

"I am."

" _Completely_ updated."

I suck on my bottom lip, running a hand through my hair. She's right, of course, because she's Bunce and she sees to even out scales where it conveniences herself. Still, she has a point; I need to at least be in their good books to get this resolved. The Mage is only going to fall if we knock his army out from under his feethat better way to do that than to make them fight for us?

"Bunce...this isn't going to make sense, but I can't give you the answers you're going to want."

She frowns. "Okay, well give me the answer I want right now."

_That much. You can let go of that much, Baz_. "It's just me. Three of my truths will be exposed, else five lives will end."

Bunce cocks an eyebrow. I get the feeling she had already guessed that answer. "Are you going to let your pride get in the way of that?"

Obviously, that comment pisses me off, but it raises an even better question. That's mine and Bunce's relationship (or lack thereof) in a nutshell: constantly trying to one-up each other, until the other one wins. This is one time, where I reckon I'll win.

"Do you think I'm that selfish?" It comes out as more of an accusation than a statement. "Like, just answer me honestly. Do you?"

As much as I dislike Bunce, over our years of competition I've learnt a few things; she's a sucker for philosophy, and she's bloody good at it.

"I think that if your life is one of the five, you'd be more willing to kill them all - it just depends on who's standing in the line-up."

I lean back again. In all honesty, I'm enjoying this more than I thought I would. _Especially_ considering her answer. "So, say it _is_ my life in the firing line; what if it's Emily's too? Do you think I'd do it then?"

"Well, where do your morals lie heavier?"

I roll my head against the dusty brick wall, craning closer to her. "With the safety of the people I love."

And suddenly, we're diving into psychology: "So, where does that place you? Where do you stand with yourself?"

The line, like mountain ash to a werewolf, is thrown down between us, and it nearly kills me to admit to her: "I don't know, and I don't care. This conversation is over."

And I leave her to dwell on that much. 


	6. 6

**Simon**  
The sun is setting lilac over the cloud-stroked sky as I'm trying to read through my Literature Studies text (bloody mandatory classes) on my bed. Baz creeps in through our dorm door just as I'm reaching the end of another boring, dusty chapter. It's truly a strange sight to see my heinous roommate mousing around. Baz is in no way a delicate being, but his grace and natural agility makes up for it. He pushes the door with extra care, slowly peeking in to check _something_ _._ He slips through the tiny space he's left himself, in the ajar door. He's acting rather odd for his usual self. I can't tell if it's his way of being considerate, or if he really is plotting something this time. My death, my fall...whatever it is, I don't like it.

"What's with the..." I gesture pathetically towards the door, not wanting to attempt to articulate it. Of course, after the shitty couple of days I've had, the pressure of all this stress and sadness runs my words together. It sounds ridiculous, and I have to shut my eyes and physically regret ever opening my mouth before Baz can even come up with a reply.

He's slightly lost for a reply as he walks in, but have no fear: the prick is here. There's almost a softness in his eyes before he narrows them into a stern glare - the Pitch inheritance, I'm guessing. "Thought you might be sleeping: didn't want to wake you up in case you started _trying_ to speak again."

There it is - the balance in the universe. The empty regret that I'm so familiar with hollows out my chest, leaving it baron and unobstructed for thin, shallow breaths. I know it shouldn't cut as deep as it does, because he's got a point: I'm shit at talking. _Talking_. A bloody basic form of human interaction, and I can't do it. Baz is always there to remind me of that, among other things...magic, football, _sleeping_...but he's right every time. We both know it.

A deep, desperately silent sigh dents my chest, dragging my shoulders down with it. Baz pauses by his bed as I gently close my eyes and dismiss his comments, wiping a clean slate on my mind.

"You're not crying, are you?" He ridicules. Or at least, I _think_ he's ridiculing me. Honestly, he sounds more concerned, which only threatens me more. Baz doesn't _concern_ himself with other people. "Snow?"

I sigh again and shut my book. "M'not. Just tired."

He continues to fold a stray t-shirt and place it on his bed, and repeats. "Just checking."

"Why?"

He laughs incredulously. "Because we just got told that your girlfriend is going to die soon." He throws another t-shirt onto his bed, and struts. _Struts_. "Oh - _better yet_ , your ex-girlfriend. Dumped you today, didn't she? Merlin, that would be enough to make anyone cry."

 _Agatha_. Crowley, there's a wound I want to seal. No thanks to Baz, I'll be bawling in about five minutes. Closing my aching eyes again, I barely mumble out: "Can we not talk about this?"

But I barely even open my mouth, and I regret it immediately after. My words all clump together into one warbled whisper, just screaming at Baz. _Bait, bait!_

Low and behold: "Oh I'm sorry, what was that? Were you trying to be coherent?"

There it is. My nose is blocking up, cheeks aching, eyes stinging. "Baz, can we _not_ talk about this?" I repeat, far more enunciated and exhausted than before. "If you're so concerned about my crying, why do you keep pushing?"

My arms push me up and I walk over to the bathroom, but I can't feel anything and I can't even remember that much. All I remember from my short walk is that it progressively got harder to see 2 metres in front of me, until the impairment was running down my skin. A shower's all I need, really. A reset button, so I can start not thinking again.

"Snow, I-"

"Shut up, Baz," I snap, rubbing my eyes, if only to stop myself from crying. It doesn't work, and my voice quakes like the unruly earth, tired residue of everything on my mind trickling down my cheek. "Just...give me a break, okay? Just for today, _please._ "

I don't let him look down on me any longer, and I shut myself in the bathroom. It takes me a few minutes to compose myself enough to look in the mirror. I don't see a boy, anymore. I don't even see a human. A bullet shell, nothing more than a weapon. Exhausted and useless.

Something hits the wall in our bedroom, startling me slightly. It's just Baz, so I dismiss it. If he needs to blow a hole in the wall for some temporary high, let him. I don't want to have to sit through that.

It's just Baz. I don't care if he gets hurt.

+++

"There was another prediction."

It's the first thing I hear when I walk out of the bathroom. I spent a generous 30 minutes in there, trying to forget about this all, and of course its Baz who's bringing it all back up again.

It doesn't take much motivation for me to bite my tongue and carry on to my bed. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to care about it...20 more minutes of ignorant bliss would be lovely, but Baz won't have any of that.

"Snow, look - I fucked up. I know that. I shouldn't be taking your vulnerability for granted right now. You're a part of this whether you like it or not - whether _I_ like it..." He pauses as I turn around. "I'm... Look, Snow. Can we just be on the same side for two hours while we figure out our next move? I'll ease up on you, I swear."

It's a risky deal. I feel like it has a double edge to it, but I'm struggling to see the catch. With nauseating uncertainty, I nod timidly. Baz might be pure evil, offspring of raven and fire themselves, but if he's willing to cool it on the homicidal front for a while, I'm willing to use that time wisely. The sight of him, though, still render me silent. 'Being kind' isn't as easy as flipping a switch - he'll slip up if I give him the opportunity. Simple solution: don't give him the opportunity.

Baz nods back and we shake hands. "Okay, we need to go down to the dining hall for dinner anyway, so we'll meet the others there. And, Snow?"

I look up.

He grabs my collar in his fist, pulling me dangerously close. For a srcond, I'm convinced I see the sharp glint of a fang in the corner of his mouth. "Don't take this as friendship," he hisses. I feel droplets of spit splatter onto my face (he's done that on purpose, I'm sure). "I'm only doing this for my family."

So we leave.

+++

**Agatha**

Emily stumbles into our room an hour out from dinner, looking tired and upset. Her curly, untamed hair is flat and frizzy - two things she would never usually allow. We don't speak, but it's an unspoken agreement, my simple open-arm gesture that allows her to lie with me in bed and relax. Nuzzling into the nape of her neck feels like divong into a pit of fluffy blankets and indulgent satin pillows, the adrenalin of the fall versus the comfort of the landing sending my heart into a spin. Back in reality, though, I know that it's just a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I know that it's just because we both feel awful. I know that this is as good as it will ever get (for me).

Death still plays on my mind at times, but mostly I worry about what I'll do before that fate. _Will I mess our plans up? Will it matter? When I am dead, will I still care? Will I have a consciousness to care with?_ So many questions, too little answers.

Most of the reason that I don't go too far with Emily is because 1) I'm terrified, and 2) if it works out, I'm dying soon anyway. It would be unfair to her, to leave her with a heart far more broken than it needs to be. I can't do that to her.

"Agatha?"

I look down to where the small voice calls me. Emily wriggles around to stare up at me with gorgeous, dewy hazel eyes. Wisps of loose ringlets fall lightly across her face as she speaks.

"Are you mad at me? For telling you?"

I shake my head and stroke her misplaced hair away. "No."

"Are you upset?"

I shrug one shoulder. "A little."

"Scared?"

With a precarious breath in, I hug her tighter. "Yeah."

She cuddles into my chest, and I have to wonder if what we're doing is normal. Snuggling up on a single bed, listening to the abnormally heavy Autumn weather beat at the window. A branch outside, barren and gnarled, taps on the glass. A steady metronome, the only thing pulling me away from the thought of Emily. The same Emily who lies in my arms, and smells like spiced ginger biscuits; who's light smattering of freckles upon her upturned button nose reminds me of birds in the skies, flying so high I can only see small, disorganized specks. 

"We should probably go down to dinner," she whispers, slipping out of my soft hold.

A surge in gravity pulls at my chest. I want her back in my arms, I never want to leave this room...

"Yeah."

But I suppose I can wait.

+++

Emily and I are the last to sit down at our table, but the dining hall is a great deal emptier than usual. Tumbleweed wouldn't even show up here; it looks like a sad, run down country club.

The tea and scones (mandatory for every meal, according to Simon) are going untouched in the center of the table, with the steam puffing out in inconsistent clouds above us. It confuses me, as I reaches to grab one and see Baz eyeing me from across the table. Crowley, when will he let me live? Can he do it before I die? I take a scone, the middle of it hot and numb against my lips, and mindlessly sip my tea. I lock eyes with Baz and glare, middle finger crudely stuck out from my hold on the teacup. He raises his eyebrows and turns away.

"I think I have an idea of where the amulet is," Penny announces, pulling out books and papers from her frayed, brown leather satchel. "I've been doing some archive research and found some hidden building plans, stuck between the original design of the Watford castle and the latest renovation plans. It was quite clearly placed there - someone _wants_  us to find this place." She pulls out a folded parchment, not new or old. "There's a part of the school we don't know about, it's only recorded on this map as far as I'm aware. I managed to sketch out what I could see from the parchment, but I'm certain that this room exists."

Penny passes a piece of paper around us, pointing to the already highlighted lines that do, indeed, imply for a secret room. Emily doesn't pay much attention to it and goes on arranging her dinner into colour coordinated piles of vegetables, and then to size order.

"The catacombs," Baz notes, looking over to Simon (who is notably quiet. Not unusual, but certainly unexpected in light of the situation). Baz looks almost defeated when Simon barely nods at him.

Emily goes to drink her tea, but winces and recoils at the heat, spilling a few drops on to the table. "So, what? We're going down there?" She asks, mopping up the mess.

"Tomorrow. We're exhausted and _all_ deserve a night of rest before we go ahead and do anything," Penny instructs. 

She looks pointedly to Simon and smiles lightly. They break into wide grins (envy swallowing me into it's endless void) and he pours her some tea. Although uninvited, I feel remarkably left out, and have to avert my eyes to the other side of the room to stop the cold isolation from smothering me. Baz catches my gaze and glances back and forth between the two sides of the table. He raises one eyebrow and mouths ' _You okay?_ ' across the distracted company. Astounded that he cares, I choose to nod, and lie. It's evident that he doesn't believe me, but thank goodness he doesn't press.

We all eat dinner in near silence, until we're the last group still sitting in the Hall. Baz keeps looking over at Simon, softly, and it's baffling me that he can look like that _at Simon._ I'd expect it for Emily (and apparently his sisters, too), but not for the boy he keeps trying to kill.

Emily eats her dinner slowly, but it's reassuring to see that she _is_ eating. We catch eye contact sometime through dinner and I raise my eyebrows to check she's okay. To my relief she nods. Merlin - for a bunch of teenagers, we sure are in over our heads with prospects of death and destruction.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Baz comments, breaking the stiff atmosphere. "The demons we're looking for, they were contained in the amulet by these translucent marbles. There's a spell to catch them, but we're going to have to make do with what we already know until we find it."

"Like, what?" Penny asks.

" **'** **Pokemon'**?" I suggest. "Gotta catch 'em all."

"Assuming these demons are weeaboos, yes; we will resort to anime theme songs," Baz chides.

I would make a comment about how he must have had an awful childhood if he didn't watch _Pokemon_ , but somehow I think that Baz would take that a lot harsher than I would have intended it. There is not a day that goes by where I envy Baz - his childhood inclusive.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow," Penny decides, standing up. "I'm exhausted, and going to bed. We'll meet here at 9:30, no later."

With that, our plans are set and going into motion. Tomorrow, we begin the hunt, and I edge closer to my death.

 


	7. 7

**Simon**

"Snow?"

The word punctures the silence that formerly wrapped the dorm in warm comfort. It's late at night, no stars in the sky, only the lonesome moon hung high above the Wavering Wood to begrudgingly open my eyes to. The owls have already woken up and are making a racket outside in chorus of crickets and the swift gusting wind, and Basilton finds it appropriate to call on me from across the room, curled up in his bed. I roll over to face him, eyes wide open. _Pissed off_. He looks even whiter than usual, with the moonlight being his only contour. Onyx hair falls of his pillow above his head in the form of a scruffy tangled mop, and his silk (bloody _silk_ ) pajamas and rolled up his arms, like the way he pushes the sleeves of his thermals up to his elbows during Winter football games. _That_ way, that I've associated with cold blood and ruthless attack. That way they makes my heart stutter in fear, but my muscles tense in anger.

"Say something."

The most present issue that I find in that statement is that he isn't using magic. _**Say Something**_ is so light and easy to do, and it can make someone tell you anything that's really on their mind, which means it's dangerous to anyone on the receiving end of it. Baz, being the prick he is, _should_ want to cast it on me - especially now, given his utter ' _desperation_ '. I don't really want to give him the satisfaction, but Baz isn't being his usual self anymore (again, given his sudden desperation to talk to me). He looks at me a lot nicer than he used to, and for once he's actually _working_ with me, as opposed to trying to kill me. It almost makes me think that he's changed.

"Come on, we were just joking around. We're always just joking around. Talking about Agatha was a low blow, I get it, but I actually can't stand this silence. Just say something, would you?"

Typical. I finally give Baz the peace and quiet he bullied me for over our years together, and now he doesn't want it. I suppose he'd be used to constant background noise, with being around Emily so often. Her constant babbling and tapping would become comforting to anyone (especially Baz) (because he loves her).

When he sees me resisting, he sighs quietly and looks away, running a hand through his hair. It shifts carelessly through the gaps in his fingers and falls against the pillow in a smoothly, unorganized heap. I've always been kind of jealous of Baz's hair - his widow's peak is wicked. It screams vampire, so no wonder Baz can't hide that, but it's majestic and sleek all the same. He'll always wake up looking like a bloody model so long as he's got that damn widow's peak (except the deformity of his nose lets him down. Given, I did that. I had to make him look normal _somehow_ ).

Baz hasn't changed. He can't have. Life doesn't work that way, and if it did, Baz would be the first to protest against it. Baz is the concrete monument of power, keeping face through any storm that threatens to usurp him from his throne. He's still a dick. He always will be. There's nothing in this world that can convince me otherwise.

Even so, guilt gnaws at my neck every time I see him swallow regretfully.

"Like what?" I ask.

My voice is low and gummy from not being used in a while. It feels all too familiar. Baz looks back at me, his face clueless and frozen. Innocent. He's bloody adorable when wants to be - big round eyes like moonstones. He bunches his blankets together in front himself and holds them to his bare chest like an old tattered teddy bear, shrugging. His muscles flex in the moonlight, its bloody hard not to stare. What a prick. What a _show-off._

"Anything. Literally anything, I can hear my own fucking bones moving when I breathe."

My teeth chew at my lip. This is probably the only chance I'll get to speak to Baz like this, so what do I say?

"When I was younger, I didn't have friends," I admit quietly, not quite stuttering, but stalling through words. Baz watches earnestly, probably itching to pounce on me. This is all just a trap (and I'm okay with falling into it, this time). "I...couldn't speak to people - I was too scared. In the end I just accepted that I'd be alone forever, as unrealistic as that sounds."

Baz looks sorry. I have no idea how a person who's never apologised in his entire life could possibly _look_ sorry, but he does. His eyebrows are pointing up towards his widow's peak, lips parted toward the middle. Knuckles whiten further as he tightens his grip on his make-shift cuddle buddy. I feel my chest tighten. "I...even now, I've only got the two. Friends, that is," I continue on. Baz looks down at the floor. "Now, Agatha is going to die and...no. No, she can't die. This can't be real."

I don't mean to cry, even if it's just a few stray tears that I've been holding in for the past couple of days. I don't even mean to sigh or sniffle or silently pray for a miracle for Agatha. It just happens. After everything that's gone on today, I deserve this much release. Baz only watches on, appearing sorrowful. He clutches his blankets tighter.

"That's rough," he whispers. "Listen, I shouldn't have pushed you like this, and I shouldn't have brought Agatha up. She doesn't deserve this. You don't... You don't deserve this. I shouldn't have woken you. Get some sleep. We'll sort this all out tomorrow."

+++

**Baz**  
I've gone soft, I know. In all honesty, I think this is just my psycho-dynamic way of giving up. Soon, they're all going to know I'm some form of freak. They'll all think I'm horrible and disgusting. I've accepted that, I've always known it would happen. I may as well start kissing up now to ease the blow.

It's not a hard guess as to what my three secrets are; it's not as though I have many secrets to keep apart from those few. It _is_ a hard guess as to how Snow - or anyone - hasn't already figured them all out yet (save for Emily - she cheated, though). Snow might have known I was a vampire since the day he met me, but everyone else denied it. Everyone told him he was being ridiculous and paranoid, but no - he was right. There's no point in worrying about it anymore. They're all going to find out who I really am, and they're all going to hate me for it. C'est la vie.

Snow wakes me up the next morning with his stumbling and bashing around, but (ironically) he's muted himself again. He sighs occasionally, or breathes a gasp when he hits his shins on the corner of the bed, but he won't even make a proper sound as he trip and falls onto his bed. Usually, this would be fine, but I know now that I'm the reason why he's stopped talking again, and that just doesn't sit right with me. I want to hear his voice, even if he's yelling and arguing with me. It doesn't matter how he insults me, so long as he speaks. I love it, I love the way he talks...and I hate myself for that.

Even though it goes against our agreed schedule, I insist that Snow takes a shower. It's another odd move (coated in insults of how greasy his hair is) (but seriously - he needs to wash his hair more often), but I did it to allow myself time to go off and hunt. It's been days since I drained more than just a few rats, I'm starting to get restless. The scary part is that he didn't even argue with me. _Crowley_ \- I've broken him. He's done. The end of Snow-versus-Baz: Snow defaults out due to emotions.

9:30am couldn't roll around soon enough. I was getting tired of the forest. After an initial haul of an old, injured fox and a squirrel that had stuffed itself too full to run away, I went back to drinking rabbits and stray mice before heading back to clean up. I've been sitting in the hall at a table all alone for 10 minutes, now, and the silence is starting to get to me again. Usually I'd be okay with that, but with everything so tense at the moment, I just want to have some distraction. _Anything._

"Lovely morning," Emily grunts as she drops down onto the seat next to me, grabbing a piece of my toast and ripping into it like a rabid animal. Crumbs drop out of her mouth and down to her lap as she speaks. "Where's the Mageling squad?"

She leans on my shoulder and closes her eyes, just as Agatha sits down across from us. "On their way," I mumble, watching as Agatha takes full gulps of her tea, steaming hot. I can tell that something is on her mind - I'm guessing by the way she takes quick, coy glances at Emily, it's about her.

When Bunce and Snow walk in, I swallow hard. Today could be it, _today could end me._ The ambiguity is driving me mad.

He's wearing the grey jumper today. It doesn't really fit him; it's all awkward across the shoulders and the sleeves hang far over his hands, but he grabs them in his fists and covers his mouth when he stands in front of us. Crowley, what have I done?

With a determined smile and an undeniable energy about her, Bunce steals us all away to start the hunt.

The weather outside is cracking and rolling above the Watford castle. We have to walk through a storm of ice and needles to reach the Catacombs. I hold my jacket above my head to protect myself, and Emily takes it upon herself to hold me around my torso and take advantage of my make-shift shelter, giggling all the while. She takes great amusement in seeing the weather create chaos. If she could see the eye of it all, the illusive shadows wreaking all of this havoc, she wouldn't be so joyful.

The wind is stronger than usual, and it's beginning to worry me. Given, the weather has never been an issue before the amulet was stolen, I suppose I have good reason to suddenly fear thunderstorms. Snow and Bunce seem to be all right, arms bound around each other, charging through the force of the weather and leading us down to the Catacombs. Agatha, on the other hand, is trailing behind us with her arms crossed, hugged around her body. In her battle against the elements, she's being pushed around mercilessly, looking lost, and upset, and alone. Instinctively, I don't care all too much, but Emily won't stop gazing at her through the rain and fog. A defiant tug on my shirt halts me, before I feel Emily break away and pull Agatha towards us.

"I am not getting enough praise for this," I complain, with Agatha now on Emily's back, Emily holding my arm.

"Shut up, you like it," Emily giggles, ruffling my hair. _Unbelievable_.

Bloody Agatha dismounts into a first position plié when we hit the dry sanction of the Catacombs. Emily all but swoons.

"Here it is!" Bunce calls out, in a proper Nancy Drew manner of herself. "Behind..."

A thick curtain of vines and roots coats the supposed entrance to our secret room. Snow doesn't even hesitate to cut them all away with his bloody sword, slashing at it like he's buttering toast (plenty of practice, you see). After he's done with his carving job, I take it upon myself to hold the excess foliage and flora out of the way of our path, obviously concerning Snow and Bunce. We're all awestruck by the work on the door's frame; a deeply detailed carving of a dragon, that guards over the door with hypnotic amber eyes; so opaque it looks blind - perfect for a few trespassers such as ourselves. Patterns of oak and rings of age within the wood make up the otherwise rather bland exterior, and Bunce barely has to touch it for it to open.

"Wicked," Emily whispers, peering into the void of a corridor. It's so dark, I'm almost convinced I can see faces staring back at me. "Almost like a horror movie."

Agatha presses her hands into Emily's sides and whispers: " _Boo!_ "

A gasp is followed two distinct giggles. I summon a small flame to my hand and shine it on the two girls, wrapped up in arms, laughing in both fear and relief. It's a lovely change to hear an essence of joy crack through the tension of these cave walls. However short-lived it may be, we're all in need of some light.

"Guys," Snow all but whispers. I give him some light, trailing him into the depths of a room, no bigger than our dorm. In fact, it looks like it _was_ a dorm. Abandoned, dusty...dead. What's an extra dorm doing underneath Watford? Who in Merlin's name would want to live _here_?

Apart from, of course, myself.

"It looks cozy," Bunce comments, skipping down the stairs. "Any sign of the amulet?"

A candle on the bedside table catches my eye. In a single touch, I light it, triggering all the other candles around the room. Emily and Agatha drop each other's hands, and Snow bloody glows in this mood lighting. Part of me knows that I need to stay away from him and keep us both safe, but the other part of me wants to make use of that bed in the corner.

"They're all connected," Penny notes. " ** _Chain reaction_** , or something."

"Sick," Emily whispers, stepping further into the room.

Snow examines one of the beds, before sitting down on it and flipping the covers back. I half expect him to go sleep, the lazy bugger, but instead he checks under the pillow, like a child waiting for the Tooth Fairy.

"Check that bed," he requests of me. I'm shocked to hear him order me around like this (and _mildy_ aroused), but the boy-hero glint in his eyes is prompting me to do it, no questions about it. Emily and Bunce both shoot me a look: _Do it._

Sure enough, under the pillow, a gem the size of a peach, encased in swirling lace, embedded into an intricate gold charm sitting on a pile of it's own chain. Snow walks up behind me and ghosts three fingers over my arm. It awakens my bones, shaking them to the core, but for him it's no more than an attempt to get to the ever-desired amulet.

"Wow," he mumbles. I come _so_ close to resting my hand on his hip, he's practically leaning into me. He's fixated on the jewel (so dark I feel like I'm staring directly into the heart of outer space - it's nauseating), but all I can see is Golden Boy. Soft freckles on his cheeks and the hot flush sponged across his neck are driving me crazy, I have to step away, over to the other side of the room.

The others all go to look at it, fawning over it's decadence and beauty, but a picture in the corner catches my attentions. It's dated, a black and white memory, frayed at the edges and covered in creases, white with the distress of passing time. There are two people in the photo, two boys, clad in the old Watford uniform sitting among the all too tall grass. One boy, buzz cut and pale eyes, is looking up into the distance with a squint and a smile. The other boy, with his dark spiky hair and crooked grin, looks at the other like he's falling in love. A flare of jealousy runs across the back of my neck. I wish someone looked at me that way.

Snow. I wish Snow looked at me that way.

"Open it?" Agatha suggests to Snow. I reel back from the picture and join them by the amulet, just as it pops open. Snow frowns, giving a hard stare.

"What's wrong?" I ask, peering forward.

"Four demons," Emily sighs, taking a pale blue, transluscent ball from the gold dish, "and only one marble."

_Crap_. "So, we have to catch them all in there?"

Bunce shakes her head slowly, unsure. In true Bunce fashion, she plucks the marble from Emily's fingers and holds it up to the dim light of a candle. The marble itself is no bigger than a watercracker, and right in the middle of it's illusive swirling of white mist, grey clouds form and dissipate within seconds of each other. Small flashes of lightning spark in the midst of the tiny storm. It's terrifying, if not majestic.

"Air elemental," I mutter. "So we don't cheat fate."

Bunce lets the ball roll into her palm and drops it back into the gold plate. "Right, so: protect the school, find the marbles, catch the demons," she stresses. "Great. Just brilliant."

Snow places an arm around her shoulders and practically hangs off of her. He looks ethereal, and dangerously close to breaking. If he were in a proper home, with a family who really cared for him, he'd look better. _Healthier_. Crowley, it pains me to look at him after semester breaks.

"We'll be fine," Snow huffs, staring at the ground as he speaks. "We'll sort out the Air-guy first, then figure the rest out from there."

Merlin, it's good to hear his voice again. "Snow's right. One step at a time; we can't tackle this in one go."

It's unlike me to agree with him (ever) and even more concerning that this is the second time I've publicly backed him up on something. We shared a nod and look to Bunce for her input. She shrugs. "Fine by me, except we still don't have a spell, or any idea of how to use this... _marble_."

Emily and Agatha share a smirk. "Leave that to your lacrosse girls," Emily insists, picking up a lacrosse stick from the corner and blowing the dust off. "We have a plan."

+++

**Emil** **y**

Agatha and I have _half_ of a plan, and are riding on the hope that in the 3 seconds before the marble hits ideal-spell-making-range, one of us can come up with a witty enough pun to catch a demon. It's got some flaws, I'll admit, but it's more of a plan than anyone else has.

What we _haven't_ worked out yet, is A) where to aim the shot, and B) how to throw it hard enough that it doesn't catch in the wind. In addition to all of that, we also have to do all of this in torrential rain. We'll make the shot, though. Piece of cake.

"You got this?" Baz asks me, handing me the stick. Agatha is standing beside me, wand already pointing at the eye of the storm.

With a tedious roll of my eyes, I take the stick and drop the chilled blue marble into the net. "Relax, Basilton - I'm 30% confident that this will work. Agatha's great at puns, she'll figure it out."

If Baz's eyes grew any wider, I'd almost mistake them for moons. "You don't have a spell?!"

_Oh, Tyrannus - do you know me at all?_

"Ready, Agatha?" I yell over the wind. Baz steps out of my way, raking his hair with his hands.

"Ready!"

My feet move to an 'L' shape on the ground, and three deep breathes untangle the nerves in my shoulders. "... ** _'Up, up and away!'_** "

I have to close my eyes when my feet leave the ground. Clouds dowse me in water as I shoot through them, flying higher than the storm, where the wind doesn't dare blow. When I catch sight of the vast blue sky, I launch the shot upon instinct. The tiny blue ball soars through the air, and I'm only given a few seconds to watch it before I'm plummeting back to the ground, just in time to hear Agatha cast out _**Catch you like a cold!**_

I drop into Baz's arms (unplanned, and yet expected) with him too busy watching the clouds reel into the middle of the courtyard to scold me. As the thick mist piles into the shaking marble, an almost human figure reaches out from it. Screeches of pain ring through the quad, until the remaining clouds are vacuumed into the case.

"See?" I pant. "Piece of cake, didn't I tell you?"

"No, you didn't," Baz chides.

"Huh. Well I told myself that. Low and behold: a result. Can we eat now?"

Baz sets me down, overcoming his dread and panic. "Em, you could have fallen too far out for me to catch you. There could have been lightning, you could have been electrocuted! Look at you, you're drenched - you're going to catch a cold."

"Mother, please - I'm fine."

The Mageling squad are all staring at us, but Baz seems fine with it. "Let's get you warm, okay?" He states, his voice low. "Well done."

"Thanks. Can we get lunch now?" 


	8. 8

**Simon**  
I'll happily admit that Emily is a genius. I mean, sure: she's hyperactive and verging on the edge of danger for the fun of it, but it takes great skill and intelligence to pull a caper of hers off - and she always does succeed. Agatha can't quite believe it herself. I suppose, seeing as she has so little magic, what she'd done was quite a feat. She looks absolutely drained and dizzy, but she's still standing. When we retrieve the marble from the divots in the moss covered pavement, she looks at it with such pride and elation. It makes me so glad to see her happy again - especially given her fate.

There wasn't much of a debrief after that, not even a hint at a plan for our next move. Of course there were a few trivial exchanges, mostly between Penny and Baz, but I didn't listen to them. There's a numb tug of the hairs that line the nape of my neck, some breeze in the wind trying to pull me back to the reality I had been living just days ago. Something about this all feels off, but I can't quite pin down what it is. There's a mystery intertwined through our make-shift hybrid "squad" that makes it all feel slight askew. It's probably Baz (because it always is, and I hate him). He's acting all nice now, getting close with Penny and Agatha, trying to hide the fact that he's still a dick to me behind closed doors. As soon as we catch the fourth demon, he'll go right back to death plots and breaking my bones, just you watch. People don't change.

He staring at me as we walk inside, him being only 3 steps behind me. When I turn back to see what he wants, the girls all engrossed in conversation about the probability of the Humdrum's involvement in all of this, he glares and mouths some obscenity at me. This is becoming a more common practice between us now, almost like a mutual habit, but I still don't like the way he stares at me. Snarling. Twitching. I'm always in his peripheral vision and I hate it. I hate _him._ (Did I mention that?)

This can't be over soon enough.

+++

Once again, Baz's nocturnal habits disrupt my attempts to sleep at a sane hour.

"Snow. Oi. _Snow._ "

With a dramatic, playing on sarcastic groan, I roll over to look at him and huff. "What?"

"I'm..." He huffs and struggles on his words. "... _sorry._ For making you feel bad for your speech impediment."

He scowls like he's swallow some sour sweets too quickly. "...did Emily tell you to say that?"

"You know me so well."

Baz doesn't look at me again. My eyes are heavy and the night is cold against my cheeks. How Baz can sleep with no blankets, I have no idea. Well, I have the vampire idea, but even _I'm_ starting to doubt that theory.

"But..." He sighs. "But yeah. Sure. Sorry. I guess it's a shitty thing to do."

Given his tone of voice, I still see the prick that he was today, but in his words I hear the boy he was trying to be earlier on. There's a part of me that wants to take this as progress, but I know all too well that it'll all falter within a matter of a night of sleep. Baz might not be completely evil (thank Merlin), but he's still a dick when he doesn't feel like trying too hard to be human. He still won't look at me and I know it's because he hates swallowing his pride like this, but I feel that's fair - I still don't think he's genuinely apologising.

"Thanks, but don't worry about it, Baz. It's fine. It's what we do. Just get some sleep.

+++

There's no progress the next day, or the next week, or the next week after that. All we seem to do each day is meet (fitfully) in the grand hall, eat breakfast, and go off to fulfill our own agendas. By this time, we're all anticipating another terrible elemental attack, but all that avails is a few untamed weeds and wildflowers in the corridor, and slightly more aggressive water movements in the moat (which only prompts Baz to spit at the merwolves _more_ ). The most worrying attack _I'm_ facing, is the one that Baz is clearly planning. You see, he's being oddly quiet for someone who's opinion is always different (and right), and I'm getting concerned.

So I've made a list of observations:  
\- He doesn't speak to the group unless I'm having one of my quiet episodes.  
\- He eats slowly, with his hand in front of his mouth. Sometimes stops chewing to listen to what people are saying.  
\- NEVER. Laughs.  
\- Does football practice at usual football practice times, despite the team finishing the season early.  
\- Has now read Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ 4 times (says it's 'research on the Mage').  
\- Spends a lot of time in the dorm in the Catacombs (I don't go in because I sometimes hear him crying - I don't think I want to see him release human emotion).

Nevertheless, the list has helped my anxiety over his actions _immensely_. I no longer feel the need to jump every time I see him storming off somewhere, or when he bounds into our room with a swagger of arrogance about him. After all, it's only normal. If I keep writing it down and telling myself that, I might actually believe it some time soon.

After a week of searching for the illusive marbles, we're all habitually gathered in the dining hall, save for Agatha. Emily accepted failure at day 3 sans marble, and Penny hasn't pulled her nose out of her old books since we started seeking these marbles out. A cloud of boredom and disappointment hangs over us all as the usual busy vibe of breakfast swirls on around us. Students everywhere are buzzing at the thought of a day to themselves, full of free periods and schedule gaps to match with friends. Most of the faculty at the school have fled to the Coven's urgent meeting, regarding the dramatic rise in dark creature activity. That's really where the worlds will clash: the Ministry, the Families, and the Coven.

All of these groups have overlapping members. The Ministry is really all about the politics of the World of Mages, the modern addition to the traditional ways of magic. It's all about statistics and economy and _blah blah, words words._ The only really interesting thing they do is monitor the dead spots that keep cropping up everywhere. Even then, it's all numbers, numbers, numbers...

The Families are the deal Baz is cut in on. They're traditionalist, pedigree Mages who are _powerful_ , and (in turn) wealthy. They're more than just status, though - they're protectors of magical heirlooms and practices. That's why the Pitches (well, technically _Grimm-_ Pitches) were in possession of the amulet before the Mage stole it - it was passed down through their family through generations. Baz mentioned that it was never meant to be used as a weapon; the power of control was meant to prevent the demons from running rampant on the world. Clearly, the wrong person received the right information.

The Coven is a lot like royalty. They're a peaceful bunch of leaders, thought to be one of the original magical families, who basically try to keep everyone from killing each other. They do a lot of work in providing magical aide to fair folk and they have the oracle predict the prophecies that are meant to progress our society, but a lot of what they do is traditional. I don't think any of them are from this millennia, and as far as both Baz and Penny are concerned, their lack of enthusiasm to assimilate with modern Normal society is holding us back from evolving our society and the way we use magic.

The teachers that had to leave to meet with the Coven were all heavily involved with the Ministry, but none more so than the Mage. To put it into Normal terms: the Mage is our Prime Minister. No, not the 'most powerful', but certainly the most political. Baz seems glum at the idea of everyone's beloved leader dragging us deeper into war against the families. He's even more pissed off than Penny, who keeps debating with herself over whether we should tell someone in Ministry about the amulet. Emily is just annoyed that we're still rattling on about Elementals and politics when ' _it's clear this is the Apocalypse, embrace it_ '.

That's when our beacon of hope arrives.

"Behold, nerds," Agatha announces, dropping a long, dirty silver chain onto the table in front of me. A pendant made of swirling platinum with a tiny latch on the side lands on top, and Penny is quick to snatch it up and flick the lid open. Hope melts to relief in her eyes, the excitement of adventure rushing back to her. Sure enough, a bright green marble with tiny flecks of pink and yellow sits inside, nestled in plush purple velvet casing.

"Earth," Penny whispers, passing it to me with eager enthusiasm. In the center of the tinted glass, a tiny exotic flower blooms it's magenta petals from a while bud and spreads it's vines over the glass case of the marble, until they fall away like worms and repeat the process. "I guess we can finally get the weed-killer out."

With a jolt, Emily stands up. The table shakes, tea cups clattering against each other, water and tea spilling onto the wood. Baz follows the direction of her gaze, fixed on the tall fragmented window. Baz stands with her as a shadow passes over us. "We're going to need more than Ebb's garden shed," Emily frets.

Our joint focus turns to the shaded glass. The silhouette of a monstrous creature thrashing just outside of the castle. Students all quieten and stand, wands unsheathed as the shadow grows larger and spreads over the expanse of the dining hall. Spider web cracks begin to grow from the top of the rounded frame to the base. Tiny flowers sprout through the gaps. Teachers that are left begin to yell instructions of evacuation, but we let them fall into silence. A low and creak in the walls resonates through the room, before gargantuan vines lined with snapping flowers and thorns the size of Labradors shatter the glass and send rainbows of shards flying at us.

In no instance I could measure, walls and floor tiles are being thrown and flung across the ruins of the room. Glass cuts my cheek and arm as I launch to join the battalion on the front-line, right up with Emily and Penny. Strings of spells and magic are being yelled and chanted over the noise, but I prefer to fight it with the sword of Mages and avoid obliterating half of the school _and_ student body. When I turn around to survey my surroundings, Baz is right beside me, shooting his words out like thunder and lightning. One of his hands stays close to me, hovering right between my shoulder blades like he's getting ready to push me. I can hardly focus on fighting when he's so dangerously close to me. Every time I move away by a step, he follows. I just know he's up to no good.

 _One more step won't hurt_ , I think to myself, slicing a snapping flower and going for the lunge, when my foot slips on the rubble underneath me, and I trip right into the line of a flailing vine.

" _Snow!_ " Baz booms, grabbing my hand.

He yanks me back up and holds me back from the edge of a crater in the floor, his cold, thin arm securely around my body. Even as he's shooting spells again and I'm swinging at the foliage fury, he doesn't let me go. In between charms and combat, he leans down to my ear to check: "All right?"

But I'm more distracted by what's happening behind him. "Duck!"

Baz's eyes widen and he pushes us both into the ruins and wake of a previous hit. We both hit the broken ground as another giant stalk swings at us. Baz's hand holds mine as one of the snapping flowers picks a fight with us, lunging at us on the ground. Already, I'm jabbing at it with my sword, but Baz has started setting the flowers ablaze and ordering people out of the room. He scurries away from the flames and joins the small group of distracted students outside, all trying to get away from the chaos as quickly as possible.

He's dragging me along behind him by the hand but throws me away before we reach the heart of what's left of the student body. Agatha stands in the middle of them, batting out a small flame on her sleeve and trying to direct the shaken mages back to the dorms. I go over to her and hug her in relief, sighing as the beast of the vines explodes behind us. Baz pulls Emily out of the hall as we watch the fireworks of flower buds going flying around the room.

"Em!" Agatha yells as Emily emerges from the carnage. I let her go and watch them run out to hug each other, clearly relieved. Baz walks over to me and hits my arm where it's bleeding. I go to console it, but find it heals, slathered in Baz's magic.

"Bunce," Baz mutters as Penny crosses the corridor to us, necklace in her hands, clothes charred and covered in ash. "What's going on?"

"There's something outside," she tells us. "I think it's where the next marble is, or at least where we can trap the Elemental. Come on, we have to go!"

She grabs mine and Agatha's wrists and dashes off with us in tow. Agatha snatches Emily up with us, and Baz grumbles some kind of cuss while Emily bumbles along giggling with the girl of her heart. Before long, we're out in the quad, all looking around for whatever it is that's exciting Penny so much. A massive tree: tall as a skyscraper - large as a house. Its stands gloriously before us, hiding in plain sight. Its so big, it takes a while to notice that it is, in fact, there. Out of the bark, what I had thought were branches, are actually rapidly growing vines and fly traps, taking aim at us.

"What do we do?" Emily asks.

Penny smiles, apprehension sitting in the air around us. "We go in." 


	9. 9

**Baz**  
The hole in the trunk looks more like a cave than a humble woodland creature burrow. It's dark and immense, exerting dominance without sentience. God-like, even, as it stands before us with answers and power that we all long to harness. The entry is high and a proper task to get up to, but never the less, we all venture in after Bunce. It scratches skin and draws blood. I can smell it as I help to pull all of my comrades up into the tree hollow. I light a flame in my hand to guide us as we congregate further towards the anonymous dark, watching the walls glow amber, revealing tangled roots and foliage. The walls are all ratchet and damp, smelling of dirt and goblin shit - much like Snow after one of the Mage's death missions. The further we walk, the worse the stench gets. Not even I can hold my breath long enough to fend it off.

" _Dark creature..._ " A deep disembodied voice echoes through the tunnel we're following. I slow down slightly, looking ahead at the others in confusion, expecting them to all reflect my expression. No one else seems to hear it, though. They carry on walking, no light to aide them. " _Enter no further unless you wish to face dire consequences..._ "

I pause my step and tap Snow's arm chastely, simply because he's hanging around me to keep his guard up. It's hard and pointed, knuckle to bone, but to be fair I've had enough holding hands and saving his ass for one day - it's driving me wild. Even feeling his skin for a second is too much for me, and his hanging around me is making my throat burn in lust (just a little bit _closer_ , a little bit  _more_ ), but a theory has to be proven for the sake of everyone else's safety. "Oi... D'you hear that?"

He frowns, the contours and folds of his face flickering in the glow of the flame. "Hear what?"

"The voice."

A sigh drawls from his lazy pout, clear exhaustion evident in his scowl. "Are you fucking with me?"

 _Oh, I wish._ "No, I-!" But he's dead serious, not in the mood for games. "Never mind, I'm just tired."

Scornfully, he mutters: "Figures."

We step over a small barricade of broken branches into a clearing, lit by fireflies and flowers so wild and large and _magical_ , they must be prehistoric (given they're all being used as nightlights). I put out my fire and look up. The ceiling spirals up like a cone, with no light of day in sight - just an endless view of walls forged in foliage wreck. In fact, there's no other exit in the whole room apart from the way in. That just seems far too convenient for my liking. This is a trap, of course... but I fear it's only a trap for me.

Everyone starts to search around for the next marble, assuming it's even _here_ , but there's no positive result.

"It should be here," Penny murmurs. "It would make sense if it were here..."

"...but it isn't," I note restlessly. "So we need to go back outside and find it, before those carnivorous plants put us on their menu."

Bunce is reluctant as she nods, though she continues to look around as we walk back the way we came. Relief is all I feel when we approach the exit, but just as I go to leave, a net of vines and branches ambush us, assembling itself over the exit. One string of thorns and flowers grabs my wrist and pins it the the tree-cave wall, digging deep into my skin, paired with my pained howling. The others all watch on in horror. Emily mouths 'I'm so sorry' to me from across the clearing, but I smile and shake my head. It's not her fault. This would have happened anyway. That's just fate.

" _I warned you, Basilton_."

"The voice..." Snow whispers stepping forward. "You weren't kidding."

"Yeah, thanks," I chide.

" _You disobeyed my order, my rules...I gave clear warning, dark one. You shall have to suffer._ "

A chain of roses and their thorns wrap tightly around one of Emily's wrists. And then Agatha. And Bunce. And Snow. One by one they're crying out in pain, but I know that it's only a reflection of my horror.

"Stop it!" I plead, struggling against the restraints. "Leave them alone! Hurt me, hurt me as much as you like! Let them go, _please_!"

As I make my decree, Snow looks almost offended. I, Baz, just sacrificed myself for the safety of other people. The anonymous villain chuckles, but the vines don't unravel. " _Tell them, Basilton. Three truths is all I desire, but I see that you already knew that. Begin with a reason: why are you all been held captive, Basilton? Tell them..._ "

I suck on my lip and look to Bunce. Now that I'm up against the situation, I'm finding that it was easier said than done, to promise to follow through on my word. She looks disappointed in me, seeing my conflict, and I know that I have to do it. For them.

"Snow...you're right, okay? I'm a vampire," I admit. It sounds stupid, like a child's joke on their parents for some kind of appreciation on Halloween. "I was bitten the day the vampires killed my mother. They bit me after she died. I'm sure, had she seen them do it, she would have killed me."

I can see Snow wanting to scream in joy, tell the whole world 'I told you so! I was right!' but he looks about ready to cry when I add the last part of my confession in. Under his breath, I hear him breathe out 'oh my...' not even able to finish his astonishment.

" _Go on, Basilton...you know the ones I'm after_."

Branches grab my shoulders and jolt me back into the sharp barrier. "Okay! I...I've never had a girlfriend." More branches grow around my neck like a choker. "Fuck, _alright!_ I've never had a girlfriend because I'm...I'm gay. Happy?!"

The roses unwind from the rest of the groups' wrists. Snow is staring at me, almost betrayed. He probably doesn't believe me. I don't blame him; I don't want believe this is happening either. Agatha doesn't seem too surprised, and Penny... Penny looks _so_ sorry. Merlin, if I wasn't crying before, I sure am now. Bloody Bunce.

" _The best for last, Basilton... Go on..._ "

But the words aren't there. "I can't," I weep. "I'm sorry, I..."

" _Can't? Hm...perhaps there can be a compromise..._ "

Just as those words ring out through the cave, the walls begin to move. They grind against the ground, closing us in. Snow looks to me in disbelief, hopelessly trying to push against the force. Bunce has stopped caring so much.

"Baz, just do it!" He shouts over the sound of claustrophobia.

He doesn't stumble or stammer like he usually does, and the fear in his eyes...I can _feel_ it. "I can't, I can't do it!"

" _Baz_!"

"Snow, you'll never forgive me!"

Snow huffs and turns to me, angry. Practically bleeding magic. "Tyrannus, I swear to Magic, I will _fucking_ forgive you. Would you just do it and stop whining?!"

 _Crowley_ , I can't stop shaking. My stomach is turning and tossing with fear. The feeling is almost addictive, the adrenaline rush right before I take the fall.

" _Now, Basilton..._ "

"Yeah, _now_ , Basilton!" Snow mimicks.

And its those eyes, those hopelessly heroic eyes that keep reeling me back to him. Boring blue. Hypnotising. Even when they're filled and brimming with tears, I still can't tear myself away. I'd do anything for him. Anything. We've been pushed so close, Snow and I are crashing into each other. Our chests are barely an arm's length away. We're about to be crushed into one another. I can't let them die. Not like this, not at my hand.

"Simon, I love you!" I cry out, thorns digging deeper into my skin, my chest lightly brushing Snow's as we both breathe deeply and unevenly.

The walls stop moving. Vines and branches snap away from my body. There's no light, but I feel all the eyes in the room staring at me. Snow especially - I can smell his distress. It's smoking out of his every pore, suffocating us all in his emotion. There's a moment of silence, and all I can hear is the huffing and sighing of exhaustion and relief, caught with fear and confusion.

"You...what?" Snow whispers.

I did this. Merlin, I've ruined everything.

No...that wretched demon did this.

Within seconds, the barricade is torn away. I light another flame and illuminate the shock and confusion suffocating this tiny prison. Snow, in particular, looks like he wants to be sick. _I'm revolted as well._

With no word of warning, I snatch the necklace from Bunce and storm away, popping the marble out again in my strides. Emily and Snow call after me, but I'm blinded (and apparently deafened) by my seething rage. How dare this nightmare take my secrecy, my _safety_. How dare it force me to come out, to admit to my burden of a species, to _confess my love_ without consent. I'm not letting slip out of my hands, not a chance.

As soon as the dreary light of a stormy day hits me, I see the dark shadows of a figure presenting itself above the cave entrance. With an attempt to run, it shoots left. Too bad for it, though; it's up against a vampire.

I throw the marble hard, waiting for it to impact before casting out **_"Venus fly trap!"_** and listening to it shriek as it retreats into the marble. The small glass ball drops into my palm just when Snow leads the others out. I can't face him, or _any_ of them. Not even Emily. Not right now. I let the marble roll off my hand and into the grass, stepping back, distancing myself from him, for him.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, and I run.

+++

**Simon**

As the words left his mouth, my stomach dropped.

He's Baz. _Ba_ _silton Pitch_. He doesn't love anything, he's told me ever many times. He's a stone-cold, walking half-corpse - confirmed. He doesn't even have a heartbeat (does he?). He has to be lying. He _has_ to be pulling my leg.

The longer the silence drones on, the more worried I get. The walls have long since stopped moving, and the lace of roses has released us all. Thank goodness it's dark. I can't bear to to see Baz's face right now; I know he'll be smirking. _Got you, didn't I? Ha! I bet you wanted it to be true._

(Do I?)

There's a shattered sigh, the hollow exhale dripping in Baz's tone - proper, calculated, _miserable._ The flame in his hand shines in my face, and I see now that I'm wrong; he's hollow and sick. If he could look anymore ghastly, I'd swear he's contagious. There's a tension that I can't get over between us. Rigid and stiff like old, crusty fabric, but I feel the pit in my chest grow deeper when he turns and storms out into the day. No matter how loud I call, he keeps running, until I hear the boom of his magic and see the termination of a demon. He barely lets me breathe before he runs off again.

Immediately, I turn to Emily. "Did you know?"

"What?" She frets.

I can't help but let the fire fizz under my skin while I deal with her. "All of that, in there. You knew, didn't you? And you didn't tell us that we were working with a _fucking_ vampire!"

"He's not evil, Snow!" She objects desperately. "He just..."

"...tried to kill me. Three times, Emily. What deal did he cut with that demon? Hm? Because I know this is all just another one of his plans to rid me."

I'm lying. To her, to myself...to everyone. I believe him and I know that, but maybe I don't want to. Maybe I just want to hate him, and trust that he hates me back, because that's how we work best. That's what's easy.

"It's not a lie," she argues softly. "I promise you."

+++

He doesn't appear to be in our room when I walk in, but the bathroom door is locked. As I struggle with the doorhandle, I realise that I don't know what I'm doing here. Do I really want to talk to him? What do I say?

Crowley, what do I _feel?_

I just know that I want to see him.

(I just know that I need him to be okay.)

"Baz?" I call through the door, knocking the surface with my knuckles. "Come on, just- just let me know that you aren't doing anything dangerous. We can talk it through, okay? Just...just let me know you're okay."

A sniffle from inside gives me some hope, and I relax against the dark wood. Silence passes the time and he doesn't surface. Nothing can make me leave though. Baz _owes_ me answers... I can't bring myself to force them out of him, though. I sit on the floor, thoroughly exhausted, resting my head against the door-frame. Part of me wishes I could just reach over to him, touch his hand, tell him that it's not a big deal. Another part of me knows that its cruel to lie.

"I'm not leaving until I know if you're okay, Baz. Even if I'm here all day. I need to know."

"Fuck off, Snow."

His voice is low and wavering, but it's hardly a sob. Raw, maybe, but it doesn't make him sound weak. I'm not sure anything could make Baz seem weak - he's a force if energy in itself. Even now, through the door, I feel his burning aura stinging a the veins in my neck.

"Baz...we have to talk about it."

"I told you to leave," he fights back.

He's always this defensive. I should have expected less of a conversation, more of an argument. I want to tell him that, no, he didn't tell me to leave - ' _Your exact words were 'fuck off', not a pleasant 'please vacate''_ \- but I feel as though now isn't the time to piss him off even more (though I _am_  keeping that one for later).

"You can talk to me when you feel like it," I tell him sharply, letting my body fall against the door. "I'll be right here. Not leaving. Because I'm being  _fucking mature_."

+++

**Baz**

I don't say anything.

I can't.

This is awful, terrible, the _worst_ day of my life.

Well, not the the _worst_...

Minutes feel like hours, until I close my eyes and feel the hours pass like seconds. Snow must have left by now. He has to have left. It's been two, three hours? Snow doesn't care about me that much, surely. He can barely sit still in a standard class, let alone playing Prince Charming outside the bathroom door. He'd have waned out at 10 minutes. Either that, or he'd have changed his mind, decided I'm the worst possible vampire to ever exist, and is just _waiting_  for me to walk out so he can set me alight and end everyone's misery.

 _Crowley_ , I can't be thinking like that. Not now. 

I'm huddled into the corner of the bathroom, right beside the door (to keep Golden Boy out, in the phenomenal event that he actually manages to cast a proper unlocking spell). The shower has been dripping on a constant metronome for the past eternity that I've been here, and that alone is my motivation to leave.  When I believe it to be safe from Snowman ( _no one's_ favourite superhero), I stand up and crack the bones in my back and shoulders. With every tiny snap, relief floods my body. _This will pass. This has to pass._

Slowly, I crack the door open toward myself and peek at Snow's bed. Empty. It's only mid-afternoon, so I presume he's gone out to make jabs at me behind my back in the Dining Hall. I'll lose the respect of my fellow footballers - unless, of course, I get kicked off the team. I have no idea what the school thinks of gay vampires, and I'm sure the Magelings don't either. Typical Magelings - all well and good as long as they aren't getting hurt.

And I believe this, until I hit Snow's legs.

He's passed out on the floor, exactly opposite to where I was sitting in the bathroom before. His jacket his curled up in his arms, held tight against his chest like a teddy-bear. My heart, cold and underused as it is, is melting just looking at him. It's being caught by my guilt, rising in my throat and choking me, but I can't tear my eyes away. He _stayed_. I guess we're wrong about each other.

"Seven years, Snow," I whisper, walking over to him, "and I still know nothing about you."

With a quick flick of my wand, a practiced move I've achieved over the years, I cast _**Everything in it's place**_ on Snow's bed, and let the sheets all fly up and tuck themselves in as I carry him over and lay him down. His skin is warm and his hair flops around carelessly, until settles splayed out on his pillow, tangled and gorgeous.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, running my fingertips down his arm as I back away.

What a mess.

+++

Down in the catacombs, I'm hoping that no one comes to find me. After the whole vampire revelation, this must be the first place to look. I _would_ cast **_Nothing to see here_** , but after the **_Venus fly trap_** debacle, my desire to hide from the world doesn't seem important enough to waste magic on. Besides, if Snow does go playing Hide and Seek, I really should talk to him.

Staring at mother's grave is tiring at the present. It just reminds me of how disproving she would be of me, who I am, _what_ I am. Only Emily - sweet, darling Emily - can find the good in such a monster as I am. Sometimes I do wonder what mother would say if she knew about everything. So far, none of them have ended well for me.

As exhausted as I am, I revive mother's flowers. Necessity is an illogical process when it comes to grief; I'll do whatever it takes to convince myself that she knows - I still love her.

The scenery is too dismal and cold for me to stay any longer. Just as I do every time I see mother, I kiss my three forefingers and press them to the wall, then sigh. Perhaps if mother _were_ here, she'd be able to give me some advice. The more I think about it, the more I wish I had her back. It drags from my chest, a weight I hold with me for as long as I'm alone. A physical pain that I still can't shake.

A glint in my peripheral vision catches my attention. It's the door to the secret dorm. Surely, no one would think to look there for me...all I need is to hide for a while. A few hours, or days, or years, but just enough time to get over all of this. Enough time to settle down with what's happened in the past day. So I'm taking it, the room. I'm taking it and I'm hiding. Might have a cry, if no one is looking. We'll see.

The candles light up as I walk past them now. A soft amber glow engulfs the walls and sets into the furniture of the room. The picture on the noticeboard still screams at me, but now it just taunts me. _Haunts_ me. I hate it - it's everything I wish I could have for myself.

"How cliché - a vampire hiding in the Catacombs."

_Fuck._

Bunce hops down from the stairs, hands in her pockets, not looking my way. Hard as I try to conceal it, she sees the photo resting in the pillow of my index finger. The bloody nerd just smiles, like she doesn't know the centre of my intention holding this useless piece of card.

"So...a lot happened," she drawls out. "Are you okay?"

The card goes back into the framework of the corkboard. Bunce steps forward, smiling softly. "Can we not have this conversation right now?" I mumble. "Not in the mood."

She sits on one of the beds and leans right back on the wall. Her purple hair matches the old blankets and pillows. "That's fair. You've had a pretty heavy day."

It's surprising me that she's here, to be honest. We're far from friends, and before this demon ordeal I was convinced that she thought I was evil. Lethal, even. Given, that's not far from the truth, especially now that they all know I'm a dark creature. A freak. Maybe I should just let them kill me.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Bunce?" I demand.

She huffs, all frustrated and bothered. She's acting as though we're close. Bloody Snow - I bet this is all his idea. "You're not okay and I want to help."

"Really? You?" I chide. "No offence, Bunce, but I've kind of been trying to kill your best friend for a few years now. You shouldn't care about me."

I'm awful. I'm a terrible person - _barely a person._ Bunce deserves better, she does, but right now I just wish she'd _leave me alone._ Nothing is worse than living with your unrequited love (apart from pretty much everything in this cruel bitter world), especially when there's no wall of secrecy anymore. No anonymity stands between us, I've given him everything that I am, everything I've ever held back. Bunce knows that - she knows what I'm feeling - but I'm sure she's just here as a service to Snow. I'd ought to light this whole room on fire, push her out the door and save her life once and for all, then let myself burn in my own anguish. I've far too much pride to let anything but myself take my life.

"Baz-"

"Go away."

"But-"

"He deserves better than this, Bunce. You know he does."

That shuts her up. It's probably the first compliment she's ever heard me give him. Simon Snow, the Golden Boy ( _my_ Golden Boy) deserves better than a half dead bloodsucker with a bad attitude and a life sentence to depression. In the tree cave, he looked so ethereal, shattered in the shadows of the sunlight being filtered through gaps in branches. If I've broken him, I don't want to stick around and make it worse, but I can't find the words to tell anyone that. Oh, how I wish Bunce would just see that I'm trying to save them. Maybe then she'd see sense and save herself.

"Baz whether you like it or not, I'm looking out for you. We don't have to be friends. I just want to know that you're okay."

I hold my tongue and wish for some solitude. Bunce tenses and shifts when I sit on the bed with her. "Did Snow send you?"

Bunce bites her lip. "No, Baz. I came for your sake. Emily helped me find you, though."

I nod and sigh. Why can't the world just switch off for a while? That would be ideal. I feel so exposed now.

"I'm going to hide out here for a while," I tell her.

"No, Baz-"

"I'll still come to classes, but I can't face Snow. I'm sorry. I just, I can't."

Bunce touches my arm and tentatively leans her head on my shoulder. I tense up, but she doesn't really notice. "Okay. Take your time."

Something opens in me as she speaks, warm hand over my forearm. There's a sudden skip in what little heartbeat I still have and tumbling sensation in my bones. This, here, feels _more_. It feels like the world has just open too many doors for me to count. There's a pressure now dawning over me, where I feel Bunce's heart caring for me, and with that follows Wellbelove's and Snow's. There's so much more that my half-dead heart never knew before. More life. More love.

And although this is all wonderful and new, it turns sour, sour, sour, all too quickly.

"Thanks," I tell her, hollow. Distressed.

I'm not that sure I meant it.


	10. 10

**Simon**

All I know is that I fell asleep on the floor and woke up in my bed, drenched in Baz's magic.

The sheets are all warm and and soft, and they smell faintly of smoke and wood. I half expect to see Baz sitting up in his bed, an aggravated focus in his eyes as he reads through another book. I hope to see him as I roll over. The bed is empty, though. It's all neatly made, as though Baz had never been there. His pillow is as perfect as a pellet of untouched packing foam, sheets practically ironed onto the mattress. It's spooky to know that I'm alone. I almost don't trust that I am.

The bathroom door is open, but I've long since deduced that Baz is the one who moved me. Where he is now, I've no idea, and I feel like I'm not finding out anytime soon. The sun is slowly being swallowed by the horizon, the tops of the forest's trees as teeth to pull down the night. A haze of pinks and blues and purples blend over the faint pinpricks of glowing stars, like white acrylic on watercolours. If today were better, I might enjoy it.

It's only six-o-clock, which means that dinner is soon. I doubt I'll see Baz there.

My uniform is crumpled and folded in webs of creases across my arms. For once, I wish Baz were here to make fun of it. At least then I'd know he's safe. Even if he pulls my shirt, or scuffs my shoes, or grabs me at the collar, it's better than this freezing silence.

After the ordeal with the Earth Elemental, the corridor looks forlorn, nearly abandoned. Rogue vines line the skirt-board and climb the windows, dampening the light of the halls. It feels like that in my brain, too. Everything I've known, for so long, is all upside down and tangled in its own tangents. Baz shut out all of the light of what I'd been sure of. Maybe Agatha, over the thousands of times that she'd told me, was right - Baz isn't plotting to kill me.

It almost knocks the wind out of me when I see him in the dining hall.

He's way back in the far corner of the room, but I'd know him anywhere. Cold eyes, pouted scowl - that damn widow's peak ( _so_ wish I had one). Baz is hard to miss. Unless, of course, he's missing.

Penny waves me over to a closer table, books and plates in an organised mess across the surface. Ripping my eyes away from Baz (who still hasn't looked my way), I push myself to meet with her in a warm, much needed hug. No one else is there yet. I'm not even sure if there _will_ be anyone else with us. Emily might have to go lick Baz's wounds, and Agatha is looking like she might start siding with the others (assuming, of course, that there will be sides).

"Have you spoken to Baz?" I ask Penny, pulling apart a pre-dinner scone. It's too hot to scoop out the middle like I'd like to, so I'm left to distract myself with Agatha's cross that I really do need to give back.

Now that Baz has admitted to being a vampire, I feel bad for wearing it around him.

Penny doesn't really answer me. All he says is: "He'll be okay, Simon. This is just a bit shocking for him, is all."

"Yeah."

"He lost everything he'd ever kept."

"Yeah."

When Agatha and Emily walk in, there's no conversation of where to go. Emily practically runs over to Baz, crying, flinging her arms around him like he's saving her life. I have to look away before Baz catches me staring.

Agatha strides over to us and sits next to me, smiling apologetically. Her fingernails click against the table when she drums them thrice on the wood. They're pastel blue with silver decal (her favourite nail colour). It's enlightening to see that at least one of us is positive.

"Did Emily say anything to you?" I question, leaning my cheek on the heel of my hand.

Agatha thinks for a moment. "I once asked her why Baz hates you. She said she couldn't tell me. I guess now..." We look over to the two in the corner. They're huddled close, talking in words and gestures. "...it makes a bit more sense."

The cross is still in my hands. I can't tell if Penny or Agatha have noticed it yet. "I honestly didn't think he'd come to dinner," I comment. "Not that I'm disappointed, but I expected him to hide a little while more, I guess."

When Emily sees me staring at them, something I hadn't even realised I was doing, I look down to my scone. Somehow, it's not as appetising as it was before. The cherries look like they'll make me sick, and the dough itself seems too dry, too rich.

"It's for Emily," Agatha replies. "It's the only place they can depend on each other to be."

Looking across the tables again, at the the two sorrowful pouts in the shadows, a burning wave of déjà vu hits me like a wall. With the clear separation between us and them, the direct wall-to-wall line that isn't to be crossed, by unspoken rule of agreement. This doesn't feel safe anymore. It doesn't feel like a war-zone either. It feels like a step in the wrong direction.

"Back to square one, then," I sigh, turning my focus back to the thoroughly broken scone.

Penny slows her chewing. "Simon, we still have the marbles. We're halfway done."

The cross falls from my hand to my pocket. "That's not the grand scheme I'm thinking of."

+++

**Baz**

Magic is a saviour when it comes to smashed buildings, honestly.

I doubt Snow would have been told, but the council has declared it a government emergency. Students have already started going home and taking refuge from the chaos at Watford. I've heard nothing from my family yet, though I'm not sure I'll be able to face _them_ either. Besides, I'd rather stay at Watford and fight. It's my family that's been shamed, humiliated - I intend to regain the honour to my name.

I wonder where Snow will go...

Crowley, he's everywhere. I can't even go five minutes without thinking about _him._ If he didn't know me, this would be so much easier.

The only reason I'm sitting in the dining hall is to keep up appearances. Plus, I get to see Emily, so I suppose there's a silver lining. Until, of course, Snow walks in first, and our eyes catch for less than a second. Oh, it was a mistake to come here. I should have pulled Emily aside at the entrance, hidden in the shadows until doll-face here passed.

"Baz!" Emily calls out as she runs toward me. She's upset, I can tell. She isn't wearing her usual eye make-up, so I'm guessing she's been crying. As soon as she gets to me, I take her in my arms, forgetting for a moment that we aren't siblings. "Baz, I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"Puff, it's okay," I reply. "It wasn't your fault. You're okay."

"But I-"

"Sh..."

"And you-"

"No, it's okay. Stop worrying. It's not healthy."

I slide a plate over to her: one scone with lashings of butter and a slice of bacon and egg pie. She leans on my shoulder and picks at the food as we stare across the hall at the Magelings. "He would have found out someday."

"Do we keep helping them?"

With a sigh, I pull her over to lean on my shoulder. "You will. You should. I... I'm going home."

She sits up slowly, looking back at me. "No, Baz-"

"Em, it's not safe here anyway. How long until everything catches fire and I burn for the relief of it? I'm protecting myself from my own demise, we know that."

She hugs me, her cheek resting on my shoulder blade as she whispers: "Please don't go."

"Emily-"

" _Please_."

Looking down at her desperate, scared eyes, I melt a bit. Like this, she feels more like family than ever, and I'd do anything to help my family. She's so frightened, and I know why, but she and I both know that she doesn't really need me. It would certainly put us both at ease.

"How do you suppose we convince our families to let us stay, then?" I ask her, as she sighs in relief. "Half of the school has already gone home. Even the Magelings will all be rescued soon."

She raises her eyebrows. "You're right. We'll have to talk to them."

"No."

" _Basilton._ "

Her hand lands over mine. With a wincing grimace, I groan in protest. No way am I facing Snow. Not happening.

"I'm organising a meeting," she declares, ripping a page out of her brain place and scribbling down a time and place.

I pluck the pen from her hand. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. Give it back."

"No. I don't want to do this, Em. Please don't make me."

We hold a gaze for a few moments. For once, I'm the one begging, and she's giving me the hard glare. It's too soon, way too soon. I can't handle this right now.

She sighs. "I still want to meet with them."

"Em-"

"No need," Snow interjects, more confident than I'd ever heard him before. "Tomorrow. Lunch. You should _both_ turn up."

Behind both of them, I feel so small. I _wish_ I was small. Tall and broad, I feel far more ridiculous with the fact that I stand out so much. I want to hide. And cry. This has to be a joke right now.

"Baz, are you coming to our room?" He asks. He hates me, I'm sure. His tone is pointed and sour, it clips at the ends of his words.

I shake my head. "Wasn't planning to," I mumble, pushing up from the table and walking away from him.

Snow touches my arm, making me flinch away far more violently than I'd planned. "Baz-"

"Don't."

"Come back-"

" _No!_ " He stumbles half a step back, frowning. Back come the tears, pooling deep under my skin in a dull, concentrated ache. "Snow, just go," I whisper. "I'm sorry that I said that shit and I'm sorry that I'm fucked up, but I need you to leave me _alone_."

Just being this far away from him is like having my school tie tightened right up to my throat. His Adam's apple is fucking ridiculous, I can see it moving from here. Shifting jaw muscles, tensing forearms - he's a nightmare. A nightmare I so desperately want to suffer through.

"Fine," he growls.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

I feel something cold and light drip down my cheek. "You're right. I'm not. Fuck you, Snow."

+++

**Penny**

Breaking into Simon's dorm room is marginally easier now that I don't have to worry about walking in on Baz's predatory habits. Pouncing on me if he saw me, threatening to turn me in, declaring his (ever precious) bed off-limits. Ever since we joined forces on the some form of middle ground, not to mention that facts that he's now hiding from everyone in the catacombs, I have no worry over getting caught. That reassurance doesn't convince Agatha in the slightest, but she and Emily swear that they have another agenda to tend to.

"I'm keeping an eye on Emily," Agatha had insisted as she rounded the corner into the cloisters. "Today was heavy, I'm making sure she's coping."

So I let her. Considering that I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who knows where Baz is hiding, I also make a mental note to check in on him tonight as well. Right now, though, Simon is as much of a mess than ever. Even worse, he's started _thinking_.

How do I know this, I hear the skies ask? Simple: the smell of smoke is billowing out of his room, and when I open the door there's a flurry of books and balls of paper in the way of my path. Simon is pancaked across his bed, eyes closed, practically setting himself on fire.

"Simon?" I beckon softly. "You okay?"

"No," he answers gruffly.

I close the door and sit on the end of his bed. My hand lands on his shin and I feel him wince slightly. "You're bruised again. We need to stop getting you in trouble."

I try to laugh. He doesn't.

"I know you're upset. Baz is...a hard case, for sure. I just want to know if you're okay."

Still no response. I expect him to at least acknowledge my attempts to comfort him, but he's fixated on the ceiling above him. In true Simon integrity, nothing will spur him. The suffocating smoky stench he gives off is making me dizzy. " _Stevie Nicks_ , Simon - I think I liked it better when you _didn't_ think."

With a sigh, he rolls over. The intensity of his leaking magic recoils a bit. "This is...a lot."

"Yeah."

"It's too much."

"Are you okay?"

"Not really. What do I do, Pen?"

It's hard not to laugh. All of this is so ironic. Baz, the boy who actively _hates_ Simon and has tried to kill him thrice, turns out to be in love with him. Simon is actually _thinking_. Agatha looks like she's actually having fun for once, and me...

Well, ordinary as ever, I have a theory on something.

"Listen, Simon," I drawl out, leaning back against the wall. "You don't have to change the way you feel about Baz because of this. In fact: don't. That's not how relationships work."

That only seems to make him more miserable than before. "Penny?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know how I feel about Baz," he admits. "I don't think I ever have."


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Baz's suicidal thoughts/attempts at the end, please take caution ty ty

**Simon**  
It's not that I'm totally unclear on where Baz and I have stood for the last seven years, but I've always felt confused by Baz. He tangled my thoughts enough with paranoia and fear, pulling at strings of conspiracies that are knotted together impossibly tight if only to spite me. He's a prick, a bully, a _fucking_ dick... All the same, he's Baz. Graceful and ruthless, full of ambition, and I would go as far as to say that I do care for him. Not to mention the sneaky glances I take of him when he gets out of the shower. The first time he wore jeans, I could have sworn my blood stopped running.

And now this.

The light fluttering in my chest when he said that he loved me took me by surprise. As though my body knew something that my brain didn't. Baz... my enemy, my greatest distraction. My obsession, for so long. Has suppressing my own independent thought for so long really blinded me?

How can I even trust myself anymore?

Penny leaves as soon I go silent again. We spent a good hour just leaning on each other - me more than her - but anyone would get frustrated talking at a brick wall for so long. Penny is more understanding than Baz, obviously. She kisses my head and tells me it'll all be okay, then leaves quietly with a small, sad smile that barely reaches me on the other side of the room. She even warms my bed before she goes. I can't thank Penny enough for putting up with me.

The night looks to be spent mulling over Baz. Stress draws a cold sweat down my back and hot anxiety through my tight chest. When I feel my magic leaking out of my pores, fizzing and popping on my skin, I shove my head into my pillow and will myself to sleep, begging all higher powers for a moment of peace. Even with Penny's _**"Father Christmas gave dad an electric blanket!"**_ I find myself in odd periods of chills and hot flushes, desperate to get Baz off of my mind. Its times like this that I wish I could hear Baz's shrilling violin just across the room. As annoying as it used to be, it would be better than this. Any babble to fill these empty spaces is _better than this_.

"Merlin's beard, Baz," I sigh into my pillow. "What are you doing to me?"

+++

The next day is hard enough alone. Seeing everyone leave these Hell-bound confines to go home to their families, to safety - I can't handle seeing a life I long for. I watch them from my dorm window, high up inline with the tree tops, part of my view obscured by low cloud. Everyone looks so happy to be leaving. Relieved. Parents hold their children so tight, siblings are reunited, friends wish each other safe break...If I had anywhere to go, I would be happy to have all of that too.

Penny tells her parents that she's staying at Agatha's. Agatha tells her parents she's staying at Penny's. It takes a few phonecalls and a bit of magic, but eventually all parties are convinced. A stray carrier pigeon takes a letter to the Mage, telling him that I've gone back to the last orphanage. There's no hope for a response, or a shred of his caring for my safety and health. I'm wearing the blue sweater again, because it's the last hope of feeling like I have any kind of family. I have to force myself to forget that the Mage was the one to gift it to me. The soft fabric still smells like posh soap and Baz's cologne, no matter how much I clean it, but it's a warm contrast to the dreary outdoors, so I ignore that too. Sitting on my bed, wrapped up in a blanket, I'm watching raindrops fall down the window. It's better than dwelling on strife. It's better than dwelling on Baz.

At lunch, it staggers me to see Baz sitting at the table with Agatha. He's staring the table down, sullen, empty. His eyes aren't awake. He taps the table incessantly, absently. This kind of lucid existence used to scare me, memories of a past foster home being all too unsettling to ignore, but he would always wake up calmly from his false slumber and go on with his day - whatever he watched behind blank eyes clearly no having too much of an effect on him. Agatha still looks remarkabley discomfited by it. They don't seem to be talking; Agatha is sipping tea and Baz has his music in his ears. My legs almost don't take me to my seat. It takes a bit more courage than usual for me to sit down with them. I feel cheated (it is, after all, _my_ spot).

There are still a few students milling around the dining hall, waiting for parents or other means of getting home. They take clear notice of us. Snow and Pitch, sitting together - blasphemy.

I can hear Baz in my head, how it would go if the situation were different. Jerking up in a pounce to frighten them, then baring teeth and hissing _"The fuck d'you think you're staring at? Move along, rat."_

He sits still.

"G'morning," I mumble (mainly to Agatha) as I sit down.

She perks up and crosses her ankles, hands clasped together over her mug of tea. Classic Agatha 'Lighten The Tensity' move. She carries herself with the poise of a princess, straight from a fairytale of gold and glamour, but there's a dark ferocity that simmers below her perfect curved smile. A monster eats away her heart and poisons her with guilt and uncertainty - I see it when she has to debrief the lacrosse team after a lost match. There's confusion, paranoia, a part of her mind that I never touched (with an image of her so surely made up in my mind, it's a selfish thing to not ask in risk of tainting it).

"Good morning," she chimes, sounding as chipper as she has to be. Her eyelids hang low over the horizon of her irises, but she continues to drink tea and smile as though she got a perfect amount of sleep. Because she's Agatha. She's perfect.

Pretty, polished and perfect.

Baz looks up with a snap action. We catch eye contact for only a second, my fingertips losing feeling and sending fizzling magic up to my scap and through my shoulder-blades while my mind desperately tries to rationalise with such a force before it begins leaking out onto him. One of his headphones falls. The whisper of dramatic violins and broad swells of orchestral noise cut through the quiet, dusty atmosphere. His Adam's apple  shifts hard when he sees me, fear hollowing his eyes. Part of me wants to comfort him. The other part wants to smack him, for old time's sake.

I nod, short and rigid. "Baz."

He mirrors my action. "Snow."

(My chest has an itching ache in the bones. I'm hoping no one notices the way my lips parted and pouted when he said my name. Eyes glazed and wide, a child looking at store windows - oh, I hope he doesn't see. My confusion scrambles me at the best of times, but this...this is not the best of times at all.)

Agatha, the precious thing, sits in the middle of a staring contest between two _very_ confused, _very_ stubborn boys. She makes a small noise of considerate thought before putting a hand on my shoulder. "Did you sleep well?" She asks me.

Baz rolls his eyes, probably at her desperate, overcompensating smile. I, however, appreciate that she just wants to keep the peace.

"I didn't," I answer. If Baz would look my way again, he'd regret ridiculing her. A glare as cold as ice - though I suppose he's used to that. "Too much on my mind."

Agatha observes the battlefield over the table and sighs. "Funny you say that: Baz was the same."

Penny and Emily arrive together, walking out of rhythm, swinging opposite arms. Neither of them speak to each other as they enter the hall and sit down - Penny at the head of the table, Emily up next to Baz, leaning on his arm. Agatha asks her same question and sips tea relentlessly, though it seems as though she has other things on her mind. Tapping her pastel blue varnished nails and fidgeting with her hair, I do worry about what goes on in her head. (I think Emily does, too, judging by the way she stares at her intensely across the table. Softly. Concerned.)

(Is that how I look at Baz?)

"We have a situation," Penny starts off, filing through her bag.

"Really?" Agatha giggled. "Hadn't noticed."

I give her a small laugh and knock her shoulder. It almost feels like we're fifth years again - happy and safe. Nothing has changed, we trust the Mage, we're dating and as in love as two 15 year old could be. We aren't fighting government, we aren't making alliances with the enemy, everything is black and white again. I almost reach for her hand. I almost kiss her.

That is, until, I realise I'm looking at her, wishing it was someone else. Back in the present, Baz shoots me a look across breakfast array. Its so fast (and sad, and breathless) that I can only assume it was an accident. Still, it spark plugs my heart and makes me skip a breath or two.

Penny rolls her eyes, smiling, oblivious to anything that went on in my head just then. "Well, an extension on the former," she corrects.

A dusty, battered journal slides onto the table. The red leather is flaking at the edge, it feels stale and sharp to touch. Pages crinkle and crack between my fingers as I look through the inky scratches and hyper-calligraphic writing. I can't really decipher it, but even so, the language looks so old that I'm not sure that it would matter if I could.

"Penny, what is this?" I ask.

She picks up her tea and grimaces. "We assumed that there were four Elementals in that pendant," she explains. "Judging by this old journal...we were wrong."

Ever optimistically, I have to ask: "There's less?"

"More," a deep, tired voice answers from the other end of the table. We all look to Baz. His eyes are shut and he's leaning against his hand, looking like a right fright. White headphones dangle from his fist, still playing his demonic classical music. "There are more, aren't there?"

Penny nods with hesitance. "Yeah, according to this book. It's a journal that I found down in the Catacombs dorm. Looks like there were people who lived there that were trying to capture these demons, too. Judging by the language they've used here, though, they can't have been the last tenants."

Baz frowns and looks away. "I have to go," he mumbles, sitting up straight.

"No you don't," Emily counters, grabbing his forearm. "You're staying and you're helping."

"I'm leaving and I'm going home."

His heart looks about set on leaving. I wouldn't be surprised if he actually goes through with it, but something about him leaving...doesn't feel right. I know that it's not fair to play with his emotions the way I can, but part of me is doing it out of my own desire - hesitantly, I reach across the table and almost touch his hand. "Stay," I urge. He swallows noticeably. "We need you, come on."

If looks could kill, I'm a goner at point blank range. His hand moves away from mine. I retract back onto my side of the table and nod to him. He hasn't spoken, or made any form of communication, but he settles back into his seat rather awkwardly and looks to Emily. They have an unspoken conversation, full of expressions and nodding, but I can tell that she's asking if Baz is okay, and Baz is lying when he says yes.

"I've looked through most of this, and so far they've spoken of four Elementals. The ones we know - Air, Earth, Fire, Water - but then they talk about Magic."

Agatha's fingers occupy themselves with her rings, twisting and pulling them habitually. I place a hand on her shoulder and smile. Part of me wishes she'd lean back into my chest and kiss my jaw, just like before. The other part of me is okay with her appreciative grin.

"That's more dangerous to us, isn't it?" She asks. "Magic...it's what we're made of."

"Right," Penny agrees. "There's a more direct link to us. On top of that, they talk about the Magic Elemental being sentient - like, this is a proper demon with an agenda for destruction."

Emily, who has taken and cut up an apple from the fruit bowl, waves an apple wedge in the air as she speaks. "They can possess people, basically," she clarifies, taking a bite. "But why us? Why would these demons specifically come after _us?_ "

"Yeah," Agatha adds. "There are 7 billion people in the world, why are they picking on a ragtag squad of teenage mages?"

Baz and I aren't getting involved in this very much. The girls seem to have a better idea of this than us. Penny pulls out the amulet and sets it on the table. "Because we're the ones hunting them."

Baz looks up. "So are the Coven," he counters. "The families have been searching since the amulet was taken. I haven't told them anything. They haven't had a single attack, though. We've been targeted _more_ than enough."

The tiniest drip of guilt floods my head when he says that. He's been through so much, now this? It makes me bwonder when my karma will kick in.

Penny smile precariously and taps the jewel on the amulet. "I have a theory," she says. "You're not going to like it."

+++

 **Penny**  
This is my comfort zone, if I'm honest. Comfortably settled in the midst of the chaos, using the eye of this hurricane as an advantage. I've been researching this amulet and following it's story through centuries of journals and papers, creating a timeline of its chaos. There's no certain pattern to its consequences, but my theory is simple: attraction.

The jewel itself must hold the magic that keeps the Elementals hanging around close enough to kill, but it also reveals the hiding places of the marbles to us. The Earth marble wasn't where Agatha had found it before the morning she'd found it. It had shown up after we'd nearly given in and gone back to our usual classes. It's as though the damn jewel wants us to find the Elementals - but there's still the all important question: why?

And furthermore, did the Mage know of the dangers that would follow this jewel? Why would he push Simon into the middle of it all? Was any of it intentional?

Without the amulet, the Coven don't stand a chance at finding any marbles. And I've decided that I'm rather sick of looking for them. (Even the word 'marble' makes me want to gag).

As I explain this all to our group, Baz has already resigned. He spares Simon a long glance and leans back in his seat with his head cast down toward the floor. Emily notices (of course) and moves closer to him, whispering a quick query his way. Baz doesn't even reply to her.

"The Mage is trying to kill us," Agatha frets. "Brilliant."

"Just me," Baz interjects. We all turn our focus to him. "He stole the amulet from my house. He knew getting you all in on it would get me involved."

I look around to Simon, who hasn't taken his eyes off of the table since I started talking. "Baz," I begin, "we don't know that for sure-"

"Yes, we do," he exhales, pushing away from the table. "He knows I'm a dark creature, he knows my family is trying to kick him out of power-"

"Kill him."

"-and you know what, who cares. Let him do it. I'm done."

The way he says it isn't angry, like I expect. It's tired and monotonous. The words are programmed ansd scripted, much like most things Baz does. Even the way he stands up is robotic and controlled. He's already striding out into the corridor. Emily flinches and rises to follow him out, Simon following in suit. Part of me wants to tell them to stop, to leave him be, but trying to stop either of those firecrackers when they have that much drive is pointless. To my surprise, though, neither of them budge.

"Aren't you going to follow him?" Agatha asks the two of them. "What if he does something self desructive? You _know_ that it's a possibilty."

Simon can't get his words out. Emily grimaces and takes a deep breath. "Go on, then, Chosen One," she sneers. "Off you hop."

He shakes and radiates smoke and magic. Muted, choked out words sigh from his mouth, no comprehendable communication making it's way out.

"Simon," I soothe, hand on his shoulder. "Calm down-"

But he's already walking - no, _running_ \- away from us. Both Agatha and I turned expectantly to Emily, who looks quietly apologetic. She won't admit it. Pride is too strong in both her and Baz.

"Emily, come on," I chide. "You didn't have to do that."

She shrugs, looking precariously Agatha. "Whatever. He insulted Baz; I'm not one to let that slide."

+++

**Baz**

I'm fortunate that no one follows me along the brisk walk to the Catacombs. There's a light drizzle that of rain that floats atop the cool breeze, but it's nothing like what it was a few weeks ago. As soon as I reach the damp bricks of the Catacombs shelter, my eyes land on Mother's flowers. They've wilted since yesterday. I suppose the spell I used _was_ weak. I've regained some power back since then, so casting _**Bloom where you are planted!**_ is barely a chore. Mother's grave is soon illuminated with the vibrant flora it deserves. My heart aches for her suddenly, and I place a hand on the wall next to her.

"I barely remember you, some days," I find myself quietly admitting. "Others, I can't forget you. Your voice, your hands, your face..."

I sigh, tearing my eyes away from the ground and look up at the wall ahead of me. "I don't think you'd be proud of me, Mother. I'm a monster, and a disgrace to the family name." Through my misery, I chuckle. "Except for the fact that I betrayed the people who trusted me. I've kept that tradition, haven't I?"

Just before I leave, stepping away from the wall of blooming roses, I suck on my fangs for a moment, before finally (tearfully) admitting to her: "I'm in love with someone, Mother. The exact boy that I can't love. You wouldn't be proud of me. To be fair, though, no one hates me for loving Snow more than myself. Perhaps I'll make my way to meet you soon. I don't think I care for immortality too much."

With a heavy sigh and a shattered sob, I give her a rare smile and step back further. For a moment, I'm convinced I can see her standing among the flowers I've set, but it's clear that she isn't there. When I hug myself and close my eyes, it's almost enough.

The glint of a lone jewel crested into the head of the all too shameful dragon frame of the secret dorm door glints in the corner of my eye as I pass underneath it. The dorm is cold and stale when it welcomes me, the air carrying my broken sobs into the concrete walls, concealed from the world outside. Springs dig into my back as I roll out onto the stiff, dusty bed.

It takes a lifetime of tears before I start to feel myself shut down. The flimsy, pathetic excuse for a pillow is nestled between my chest and my knees, as tears well and fall numbly from my eyelashes. They're warm for only a second, before the cool air chills them as they fall down my cheeks. My mind is elsewhere, the boring scratched record of broken walls and depression beginning to sound like my personal Swan Song. My head feels like it's attached to spark plugs, it's pulsing with energy. Everything else is just a fuzzy mess that scratches the surface of my skin. Not even the fire I've summoned to my palm gives me the same rush of exhilaration and danger that it used to.

The thought of seeing these walls go up in flames, blooming over the wood and leaving a wake of ash and dust. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't suffer. I would meet my second, final death with whatever dignity I have left, and leave them all to live happier, better lives.

The glory of it is that they won't find me. The catacombs are so detached from the rest of the castle, and such a baron wasteland, no one would see the smoke. No one would hear the cracking wood. Emily would come searching after a day or so, and Bunce wouldn't be stupid enough to follow any sooner. Wellbelove isn't an issue, as far as I'm concerned, and thinking about Snow coming down here to mourn over my ashes _actually_ tempts me to laugh. As if Snow would want to pay his respects to the monster that almost killed him.

But maybe he would. Maybe he just would.

Another sigh drops from my lips. One more inch, and it's all up in flames. I could do it. I would.

"Baz?"

 _Shit_.

Snow stumbles through the door and down the three steps into the room. My fire doesn't shift. "Baz," he all but whispers. His eyes widen from shock to dread. "What are you doing?"

The amber flicker in my palm is intoxicating. "The right thing."

Snow walks closer, slowly. "What's...the right thing?"

"Getting rid of monsters. This is how you kill vampires, right? Fire? I'm asking the expert on vampire killing."

He sits down on the bed, opposite end to me. "You're not. I don't want to kill you, Baz."

Through too many tears, I laugh torturously. "That makes one of us."

"Baz, don't do this," he pleads thickly. "Please."

His hand edges closer to my leg. As soon as I feel he's too close, I put the fire out and hit him away. When he sighs in relief, I realise he was planning for that. Twat. He's ruining this all. Isn't this what he wants? A safer world? I'm only trying to please him, in my last hours, is this not enough? Crowley, my head is all over the place. The last thing I need is Snow trying to make sense of it.

"Snow, you need to leave."

I leave Snow on the bed and cross the room, hands pulling at my hair. Every time I speak, my voice shakes and I come ever closer to breaking down. Snow stands slowly but keeps his distance. Smart move (for once). I might burst into flames if get too high off of his magic leak.

"I'm not leaving until I know you're safe," he argues, clenching his fists. The room is filled with sweet scented smoke, pouring out of his skin.

I fumble for my wand and hold it to the ceiling. My breathing getting deeper, more desperate, and knocks me lightheaded. "I will burn this room and everything in it. That includes you, if you don't leave _right_ now."

"Baz-"

" _Now_ , Simon!"

He takes a step backwards and shakes. I hear his heartbeat quicken over the other side of the room. That idiot steps closer, hesitantly hovering his hand by his side, ready to call upon his damn sword if I go too far.

"I'm not leaving. Not unless you leave with me."

My hand shakes, still pointed directly above me. The more I look at him, the more I'm beginning to question whether I'll actually do it. My pride is too much to handle for only a moment. Apparently, that's one moment too long to lose myself.

Slowly, and with terrifying precision, I lower my wand and aim for his chest.

"Then I guess we're both dead."


	12. 12

**Baz**

Snow doesn't even flinch. He breathes heavy and even, recoiling his loose magic as it spills profusely through his skin. Heroically (and stupidly) he steps closer, inch by inch. He always does this - it's like his way of negotiating. He pushes and pushes until his opponent gives up. Maybe it's because he smells like a torched petrol station, or the fact that he's this close (so close) and my head hasn't been clear enough to think since I spoke to my Mother, but I drop my arm slightly and take in his presence for as long as I have him. As I notice my pathetic weakness, my stance resets and I snarl at his perfect face. This doesn't stop him. It doesn't even reach him.

The closer we get, the more I begin to consider _actually_ killing him. What spell would I use? Would it even work on him? _Is this really what I want?_ I highly doubt that anyone would be too impressed by even my attempt. To have Snow's blood on my hands (figuratively) (possibly) could be rewarded within my family. I'm not sure I'd have anyone after that, though. I'd be imprisoned. The World of Mages would shun me. More than that, I'd hate myself.

"I don't want to do this," I whisper harshly. My arm shakes frantically, I'm not even aiming at Snow anymore.

"Then don't."

Sobs shock through my body. "This is what they want."

"Basilton, listen to me," he demands, swatting my wand away and grabbing my shoulder. He smells intoxicating and sweet, like burnt apple crumble. "If you kill me - if you kill _anyone_ \- you lose. Your life will be ruined, just you think about it. Guilt and pain for your eternity, and for what? For the Coven? Is it really worth it?"

In my mind, I can see my lasting image of my Mother (she's wearing a lovely dress, clad in green and gold flowers). She wouldn't want this of me. This isn't the son she loved and cared for. This is a monster.

"You deserve better than this," Snow adds.

"I do not," I shoot back. "I'm a psychopath. I'm _evil_. Get away from me, _go!_ "

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. He's Simon bloody Snow, he barely takes orders from the Mage at times.

Hot hands make their way to my jaw, and the warmth spread like spiderwebs under my skin. Normally, my lips would go numb with the desire to kiss him, and I'd fidget with the urge to feel his soft, bronze curls. This time, however, I'm far too shocked to move, or think, or comprehend what's happening. Simon Snow is holding me. Simon Snow is draping his arms around my shoulders. Simon Snow is _hugging_ me, and my bloody knees are giving out.

He lets me depend on him as we sit on the ground together. My body won't stop shaking, and Snow is so warm, and I'm beginning to think that I really did set myself on fire.

"Baz, you're okay," he whispers, warm hands on the back of my neck. "Hey. _Hey -_ we're safe. We are."

That's when I remember that we're in the midst of a war. It's when I remember that the Mage wants to kill me. I don't even have my dignity left to hide behind. At the moment I realise all of this, I feel myself shut down. Skin numb, body throbbing in sorrow. Snow is wrong, as bloody always. He's safe - no one else is.

"The fact that you have the audacity to assume that," I whisper, voice monotonous and hollow, "says a lot about you, Snow."

He sighs. He knows I'm right. Simon Snow, our selfish saviour. I'm pushing my luck on our conversation, but he seems to know what I'm getting at. At the sight of opportunity, he takes, and takes, and takes. When we were younger, it was different. He'd go on missions and do what he was told just for the greater good of our world. Now though, he always has another vendetta. It's all 'friendship' and 'honour' and a 101 guide to being Superman. Selfish, because he thinks his friends are more worthy of saving than everyone else.

"I do want to get along with you, y'know," he mentions, sitting next to me against the other bed. We don't look at each other. We don't touch. "I've always wanted to get along with you. S'been hard - I blame myself."

I frown. "How so?"

"I'm infuriating. You told me that, and you were right. I can't stand myself."

Guilt tunnels through my chest, shaking my ribs. It presses on my throat and makes me exhale my regret. "Snow-"

"Did you call me 'Simon' before?"

My mouth goes dry. "No, don't be stupid."

"You did."

"Did not."

Snow laughs lightly and sighs loudly. We sit in silence a while longer, panting, both recovering from anxiety and yelling. To be at such a civil stand-still with him, even with my secrets so exposed, it almost feels comfortable. He's wearing the grey jumper again, which probably means that he still thinks the Mage gave them to him. It looks amazing. That thought alone makes me hate myself a bit more.

It doesn't take long for my brain to wander back to the situation at hand. With my current mental state, it's almost therapeutic, which is a worry at best. The next step for us is to find the next marble, of course, wherever that may be. We don't have any idea which one it could be. According to Bunce, it could even be a Magic Elemental. Crowley - I am _never_ signing up for this again. I can't think of any other places we can look anymore. It's so frustrating, not knowing. I'm not used to being the oblivious one.

"We should go," I suggest, standing up. "The sooner this is over, the better."

Snow nods, standing with one swift move. If I wasn't thirsting after him before, I sure am now. "D'you want to look for the next Elemental?" He asks, pulling something out of his pocket. "I brought the amulet."

"Is this your shitty plan to make me talk to you about yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Fuck off."

He rolls his eyes and walks past me. Part of me wants to hug him again. The other, more rational part of me wants to let him leave and lock the door behind him. Instead, I follow him out into the corridor of the catacombs, with a disgusting nagging feeling in the back of my head. That's when something resurfaces in my mind. A memory, a faint inkling of an idea. I grimace as I look to the door, trying to see what my head is telling me.

"Baz? What-"

"The dragon," I spectate, stepping back.

Snow follows slowly, I eyeing what "What about it?"

"The marble is the eye of the dragon."

We stare up at the glinting jewel in the dragon's head. Or at least, what _was_ the jewel. In it's place, a small, orange and white marble. We share a glance before I push him forward by the middle of his shoulder blades, letting him stumble up to the wall. He twists his eyebrows and sneers at me, dusting off his t-shirt. I guess being hot and cold with him isn't exactly my best flirting method (then again, neither was pushing him down the stairs).

I shrug incredulously. "If you're going to stalk me through the catacombs to 'help' me, you can at least be useful. Go fetch."

"I'm not a dog!" He whinges.

 _Leave the goal wide open, why don't you?_ "You're a bitch of a roommate."

I strike a nerve, clearly. He scoffs and looks at me with such venom, I actually felt an ache go through the arteries of my wrists. "Roommate that you love, as I recall," he shoots back.

The air in my lungs solidifies. My head goes slightly numb as I repeat all of yesterday's events in my head. _Jerk_ ; how could he stoop so low? Was this not the entire reason for my isolation to this dorm? Maybe my being around him so carelessly _is_ a bad influence - he's starting to sound like me, too.

Snow scratches the back of his neck and rubs his eyes, clearly regretting opening his damn dysfunctional mouth.

"Sorry. Low blow," he croaks out. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine," I lie, turning away from him. I have to resist the urge to scream and cry and rip him apart all at the same time. "Just... Just get the damn marble. Prick."

Far from evening the scores, but it's certainly cathartic. Snow sighs and grabs the scale decorated body of the dragon in one swift jump, before swinging his way over to the eye. It's sad and desperate, how I watch his muscles move and constrict with every inch he shifts to the dragon's head, but it's dowsed by his comment earlier. He's right, or at least, his implications are: I shouldn't want this. _Him_. I can't have him. It's as though I've chosen to forget _exactly_ why I ever kept my distance in the first place. Safety. Protection. For both of us.

With a pull and a grunt (a _fucking hot_ one, too), he drops from the frame and looks into the center of it. "Fire," he pants, looking up at me. "Which means you're staying out of this one."

"What?" I question, snatching it from him and watching the red and orange illusion burn and flare. "Why? You can't tell me what to do."

He takes the marble back and pops the locket of the pendant open. The marble barely drops into it before he snaps it closed. "You're flammable, don't be an idiot. You're not dying to save this school."

"Humans are flammable too, Snow." I take the amulet and sling it over my head. "I'm helping you guys, whether you like it or not."

"I refuse to lose you, Baz."

 _Oh, just kill me._ I'm about to bloody swoon. "Then you won't lose me."

He stares me down, hard. "Fine. You'd better be right."

+++

 **Simon**  
Penny meets me in the dorm while Baz is showering. She nearly collapses in relief when she sees me, draping her arms over my shoulders.

"You're a hard case, Simon Snow," she sighs. "What happened down there?"

Knowing Baz, he'll probably beat me until I see stars if I tell anyone about what he did (or what he _tried_ to do). It would be over-stepping a boundary between us, not to mention a huge invasion of his respect. Penny urges me to answer, but I only shake my head.

"We talked," I answer. I'm not _really_ lying, but I'm not sure I'm telling the truth either. "It was nothing, it's fine."

Penny raises an eyebrow. "That makes it sound like it _wasn't_ nothing at all," she speculates. "Was it about...yesterday?"

"Kind of. Listen, Penny - I can't really tell you what happened. I want to, but it's not fair to-"

The bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of Baz's pungent, perfume soap. He walks out and leans against the wall, like I've seen him do so many other times. The bathroom door closes behind him. "Don't spare her," he pipes up, sweeping his hair back. "It's fine."

Surprising. I turn to look at him. "Baz-"

"Tell her that I tried to set fire to the castle. Tell her that I tried to commit mass murder, but you stopped me."

 _What?_ That's not what happened.

Well, I suppose it _is_ , but that's not why he did it. What's he doing? He's looking at me, saying 'play along', but I'm not exactly sure of what he's trying to do. Penny looks utterly horrified, and my heart drops slightly. I'm not too sure why, but I don't want her to think any less of him than she already does.

"Why would you even _try_ that, Baz?!" She questions aggressively. This isn't like her at all. "You were going to kill us?"

"Unintentionally," he adds. "But yeah. Sure."

Horror clouds her eyes and Penny turns to me and hugs me tight. Baz seems to disappear back into the bathroom in silence, and I can hear him opening the windows. Thank goodness, because he really does overuse that disgusting shampoo. "And you stopped him... _thank_ you, Simon," she gushes, before she adds, quieter than before: "I know you're lying. Tell me later."

She hugs me once more, before walking out without another word, but a look of warning. As soon as the door slams, Baz makes his reappearance. He's quiet and timid, climbing into his bed and facing the wall. The deal we made, coming back from the Catacombs, was that Baz would sleep in the dorm (fitfully) as long as we didn't speak to one another. That agreement was made under different circumstances - I wasn't aware he was going to go spin a story like that.

"What in Merlin's Beard was that?" I jab.

Baz turns his head with a ridiculously theatrical sigh. "I thought we had an arrangement," he whispers, downcast and dull. "No talking."

I sit on my bed, suddenly very worried for him. "Baz, why did you do that?"

"It was for the best. Now stop talking."

"You didn't have to do that."

He rolls over to face me. "No, you're right, because she didn't even believe me."

"Why did you bother?"

He curls up behind his blanket, looking _bloody_ adorable for half a second. His mouth and nose are barricaded behind his sheets as he speaks. "Because," he explains, "it's easier for her, and Agatha, and even Emily, to think that I was making some psychotic attempt to solidify my evil family values. It's better than having them know I tried to solve my problems with a suicidal episode."

I shake my head and lie down to be parallel with him. "Don't say it like that. Don't say it like you had a choice."

Baz shrugs. "What if I did? What if I had a choice down there? You don't know."

I nod, agreeing that I don't know what was going through his head, but deep down I truly believe that Baz felt as though he had nowhere to turn, no path to take anymore. "You could be right. Whatever the answer to that is, I'm glad you're okay."

He looks down, and although I can't see, I think he's smiling at me. His eyes are squinting, in the joyful way that they do when he plays football. "Thanks, Snow. For pulling me back, too. Thanks."

Pure elation fills my chest, and I can't explain why I'm so happy to hear him be civil with me, for once. "It's okay," I whisper, right as he's closing his eyes.

And I find myself missing his touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: BOI IS THIS UNDER EDITED hey y'all here's all 


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some of this "Poorly Explained Simon Being Extra" (also THANK YOU so much for the comments on this story. it means a lot xx)

**Penny**

If my theory is correct, then we're in trouble.

Simon and Baz (bless them) thought it was logical to put the Fire marble in the amulet. Given that it's both convenient and _exactly_ what we've been doing throughout this ordeal, I can't blame them, but this brings up a few challenges: the Fire Elemental is awake, and we don't know how to combat it.

Poor Simon is properly upset with himself. "I should've known this, you only told us a few hours ago," he whines, staring at the ground. "I'm sorry, Penny."

"Simon, it's fine!" I assure him, a hand on his shoulder. "You needed the amulet to find the marble anyway, the whole process is a paradox."

We're sitting in the library with Emily and Agatha, 'waiting for Baz' even though I'm almost certain that he won't show. Emily keeps looking at the door for him, and it prompts Simon to hold out hope for Baz too. We've been discussing a plan to combat the Fire Elemental ever since Simon showed me what he had up in his dorm room.

He still hasn't told me the truth about what happened down in the Catacombs, but I trust that he'll fill me in at some point. He'll have to, because I'm not going to stop bothering him about until he does. Persistence and annoyance have a thin line between them, but I'm confident that I'm far on the side of the former.

"Simon, you did well," I go on. "Really well."

He grins halfheartedly and leans back in his chair, synchronising with Emily as she leans forward onto the table. Her arms are crossed, chin resting on top, lips pouting without anything to say. The table is shaking with the constant jiggling of her leg, but we're all happy to let her do so (I'm not sure she always realises her habits).

"Snow, are you sure Baz is okay?" She asks. Simon nods. Emily looks up at me and makes an over dramatic frown. She's actually pretty fun to be around, but I can see why her and Baz never asked us to tea and cakes all those years. "Bunce, what are you thinking?"

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm not sure I understand the question," I reply.

"Y'know..." She sits up and leans on Agatha's shoulder. "What are your thinking about? About these Elemental Demons."

Oh. I frown as I think about the evidence we have. "There's a lost connection, somewhere. Everything feels so random and precarious, but I'm certain that everything is happening through script. Surely, there must be a pattern I'm missing, or a loophole I'm looking over, or-"

Or _both._

"Oh!" I exclaim, flipping frantically through my research to a page, dedicated to the appearances of the Amulet before it found us. "Of course!"

"What, what is it?" Agatha presses, craning her neck to peek at my papers.

"The Magic Elemental! It's seldom recorded in these journals, which is why we didn't see it before. The Magic Elemental is sentient, right?"

Agatha frowns. "Right..."

"Because it possesses a person, and they _make_ it sentient! Look, the journals Baz got us even say - 'They will kill, control, and combat any being that attempts to fight it'. It doesn't mean all of them can possess people, it _just means_ the Magic Elemental!"

"What if that's how it works, as well?" Emily adds in. "Whoever is possessed by the Magic Elemental can control the other demons and who they go after - that's why they're just going after us and not the Coven."

"So, who is it?" Simon asks rhetorically. "No wonder the Mage wanted to get away as soon as possible - we'd find him too quickly otherwise."

"I knew that geezer was crooked," Emily grumbles. Agatha pats her back, just as Emily perks up again. "Let's separate them."

She swipes the amulet from in front of me and takes the marble from inside. "Maybe," she goes on, "we can stall. Just for a little bit, while we figure out what to do. Agatha and I will go hide the amulet, then we can go get it when we're ready. It's risky, sure, but it's the best chance we've got to buy time."

We share looks of consideration around the table, before Simon says: "She's right. We need to buy time. This could work, we need to try it."

Thank Morgana those two are at ease with each other again. Trying to orchestrate a battle plan when two of your best fighters are stubborn and conflicting is hard enough when it's _Baz_ and Simon - Emily is a no-filter, anything goes warrior though (and she can insult anyone in at least 4 languages - _amazing_ to watch, by the way).

The two girls are barely given the all clear before they run off to pursue their mission, leaving Simon and I at the table, still reveling in our discoveries. I can't stop smiling. It's been so long since we had a _proper_ breakthrough (or good news, at the very least), but all of my happiness and excitement is slightly dowsed when I see Simon's downcast face. His eyes are staring into some far away daydream, miles from this library, miles from this time.

"Simon?" I beckon lightly. "Hey, Simon. What's wrong?"

He turns to me and opens his mouth to speak. At first when he doesn't say a word, I try to give him more time to speak, to see if he's just stalling like he does sometimes. I even smile and nod him on. After a few too many moments, though, I see his eyes gloss and tear over his long tawny lashes.

"Si-"

"He tried to kill himself," is all he croaks out. My heart drops. "Baz, I mean. But, he's okay now. I think. For the time being. I should probably check on him soon."

I can't tell he's getting anxious - not just his secondhand smoke, but his words are all running together. Missing consonants. "I...didn't realise," I whisper, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. "I never knew he..."

"...was suicidal? Neither," Simon rushes. "I just... He's okay now. That's what matters. I'm not letting him near the fire."

And he leaves.

+++

**Simon**

The stairs disappear behind me as I jog up to the dorm. Something has switched in my head. Seeing Baz on the brink of self-destruction has brought up some ardent necessity to mother him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Perhaps it's the fact that I can't handle losing two people close to me through this ordeal - if Agatha's death is definite, I have the power to stop Baz, and you can  _fucking_ bet that I'm going to use that power.

Part of me keeps hoping that Emily's prediction was wrong. In fact, there was a time when I  genuinely believed that her Gift was confusing itself with someone else. Agatha can't die. Agatha doesn't _deserve_ to die. Then again, if not her, then who does?  My morality says it should be the Mage, or the Humdrum - someone evil and selfish.

(My heroism says I should take the bullet myself.)

The door swings violently against the wall under the force of my body being slammed against it. I'm almost surprised when I see that my (rather abrasive) entrance has woken Baz up - I was almost convinced I'd walk into an empty room.

"Crowley - what the _fuck_ , Snow?" He complains loudly, hiding his face under crossed arms. "Is it important?"

I try taking deep breaths to to regain the breath I lost in the run up here. "I was..." A stuttered gasp overtakes my lungs. "...Just- worried. I'm sorry."

Baz quirks an eyebrow. "You're upset."

"Thank you for telling me."

"Don't be sassy. What's going on?"

A lot of things are going through my head right now, too many to just focus on one. This _completely_  goes against my 'don't think, just do' mantra. I have to sit down before my magic goes ballistic. "We had some new information about the Fire Elemental, and I just got worried about you. I don't know, it's stupid."

Baz sits up slowly, stretching his neck and back out. "Correction: _you're_  stupid," he yawns. "But you're a hero, it's what you do. Snow, it's not your responsibility to look after me, or anyone for that matter. You've got your own shit to sort out - try managing that first."

I scoff, quickly wiping away thin tears that leak out of the corners of my eyes. "What issues could I _possibly_ have to 'sort out'?"

Baz pulls his over-expensive black, suede combat boots on as he speaks. It's odd to see him so casual, honestly. He looks like a lost 'bad boy' member of a boy band. "You looked up to the Mage _so much_ , Snow. You saw him as family and - no offence - you don't exactly have much of that. Instead of pushing that away, deal with it."

Crowley. Baz is a lot of things, but I never knew he would be so honest to me. Here I am, trying to save my friends, the school, the life I love...but I can't even sort out how I feel about the Mage. For as long as I've known the Mage, I've loved him blindly. Now he could be trying to kill me, is _definitely_  trying to unleash some kind of evil onto the World of Mages, and everything I've ever believed about him has gone to the winds. Baz is right. I need to sort it out.

Not today, though.

Baz stands, latching a silver watch around his wrist. "We're finding Bunce," he declares. "Stand up. Brief me on the way."

A gust of wind hits and rattles the window. As much as I want to heed his advice, I want to protect him from himself even more. "Wait, Baz-"

He leaves the room, his voice carrying in echoes through the neighbouring stairwell."I'm helping you, I need to know what's going on."

I stumble my way past the door and chase him down the stairs. "Baz please think this through."

It's all a blur, but one minute he's down at the bottom of the stairs: the next we're chest-to-chest. He's gripping my wrist off to one side, baring his teeth at me. "Let me take care of myself, Snow," he demands.

I swallow hard, feeling a genuine fear that he's never made me feel before. Still, though, I refuse to lose face to him. "You're a vampire, facing a Fire Elemental. I'm not just taking care of you, I'm saving your damn life."

He throws my hand back and steps away. "I'm helping. Consider it thought through."

+++

**Emily**

A good place to hide the amulet needs to be far enough from the school to make sure none of us get caught in it, and concealed in a place that no stray students, faculty (i.e the Mage), or a Coven search party would ever think to look. In all my time with Baz at Watford, we've manged to chart, map, and explore the whole of the school grounds. In all that time, I've only found one place that could we possibly stash the amulet. I get the feeling that the Mageling squad won't be all too appreciative of the kind gesture - and Baz won't be happy that I'm touching his good vodka.

Agatha follows me deep into the heart of the Wavering Wood, questioning whether it's really safe to lure a fire demon into a forest. I'll admit, it's not the best, but it's better to set a forest on fire and hide in a brick castle, than to risk setting the upholstery aflame and getting caught in it.

"Em, I know I said that I trust you-" Agatha giggles. "-but this is starting to feel like the start of a horror movie."

I grab her hand and laugh loudly. "What? Were the _demons_ not enough for you?"

It's so lovely, to be here like this. Holding her hand, walking through the trees, a protection spell saving us from the wind. Even when I think back on the trauma of Agatha's Fate and realising that she's doomed to perish, I can't bring myself to be sad anymore. I'm far too invested in this moment, right here, with the girl that I adore. 

If only it could always be like this.

We enter a clearing just east of the school. The trees are massive and green, shaking wildly in the natural British northerly. Agatha wraps her arms around me when we stop to sit on a stump in the middle of the plain. Her elegant, baby blue varnished nails grace over a carving in the wood, declaring ' _Emily and Baz were here - 2012, 2013, 2014_ '. She giggles and leans on shoulder, still catching her breath.

"You know this place well then," she muses. 

I suck in a wary breath. "You might not like it's purpose." I raise my wand to the sky. **_"Marco!"_**

One of the trees opposite to us swings a piece of bark on an invisible hinge, revealing my favourite secret compartments of the whole school (there are eight in total). Agatha gasps a laugh and goes to investigate, frowning at what she finds.

"Alcohol," she states, oddly amused. She pulls out a bottle of bourbon (Baz) and grins. "You guys come out here to get drunk."

"Not always," I defend. "Sometimes we don't get drunk - we just drink."

Agatha puts the bottle back and shakes her head incredulously. It relieves me that she doesn't hate me too much for using contraband items at Watford. "I can't say I'm too surprised," she admits. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her wand and an object that I can't quite make out. _**"Now you see me!"**_

Out of thin air, a phone bubbles into view. It has a pastel pink leather case, studded with white rhinestones. She faces the back to me, before a small burst of light flashes in my eyes. I smile for the camera. "Gorgeous," she murmurs. "You're gorgeous."

It's hard to believe that we're just friends. After everything, we've stayed stuck at some flirtatious stand-still. It's almost frustrating, but it's closer than I've ever been to her. I stride over and investigate her phone.

"Miss Wellbelove," I tease. "This is against the rules of Watford... I'm proud."

She grins with pride and pockets the device. I drop the amulet into the tree trunk and close it again, watching the wood merge back into the tree. Our arms link at the elbows. "Shall we go?"

She smiles. "We shall."

I'll miss this, when she's gone, but I'm modestly good at savouring the moment.

+++

The second I see Baz talking to Snow and Bunce in the library, I run over and hug him. He holds me tight, not even flinching (like he usually does) when I jokingly kiss his cheek over and over. My head nestles into his shoulder, feeling warmer than I expect. His cheeks are rosy and blooming, eyes sterling silver as opposed to his usual boring, concrete grey. It enlightens me to see he's fed and healthy.

"Missed you," I tell him, mouth squished up against his shoulder.

"I was gone for an hour," he states in amusement. "Maybe two. I'll give you two."

It's good to hear him so _normal_. "Shut up, I was worried. You're okay though, right? Nothing bad?"

He hesitates, then smiles crookedly and briefly, before turning back to the group with no answer for me. My hands go slightly numb with dread as I hit his shoulder lightly for attention. He gives me nothing.

"The plan we've got so far," Bunce begins, oblivious to the conversation Baz and I were having. "Is that Baz should be up on the castle roof, behind the turrets, casting some kind of spell to contain the forest fire. Emily needs to go in to get the amulet - she and Baz are the only two who can get into their...alcohol stash..."

Baz frowns at me. "There? Did you touch my vodka?" He questions.

"Depends - what happened after you left?" I shoot back. He shuts up.

"...Agatha, go with Emily in case something happens. I can cast a spell to catch the Elemental. Simon - go with Baz. Make sure he has enough magic to do the spell."

The boys both nod sharing a sideways glance at each other. Snow offers a small smile, but Baz turns back to me and whispers: "I'll tell you later. After this. Promise."


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhey who the HECK is this coming back with a new chapter i m s o r r y im not a good emotions person rn. love u guys. 
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Death and DUMB DECISIONS.

**********Simon**

Stuck on a roof.

With Baz.

Baz Pitch.

There's a voice telling me to be terrified - he pushed me down the stairs once, there's no reason he wouldn't take this chance to push me off a building. I can see it now, his fangs glinting over me as I watch the sky fall back into the night, brick after brick seeing me down in my graceless tumble. Then again, there _is_ a reason for him to be _at least_ civil with me; according to him, he cares more for me than he lets on. I'm still yet to see evidence of this, but I think (ever arrogantly) want to believe him.

I'm not sure what I feel, to be honest. All of these details, yet they make no coherent picture. Baz hates me; he loves me. Baz is a dark creature; he's a scared teenage boy. Baz is undead; losing his will to live. There's no one fact that makes any sense, they all contradict each other. A murky image of Baz and I, holding hands, surrounded by flames and blood.

I follow him silently up the stairs to the roof exit. There used to be a lovely garden up here. Penny, Agatha and I would come up here during our first few years, just to hang out. We'd tend to the flowers and use ridiculous amounts of magic to sustain their life. No petal would wilt, no leaf would fall. Now, it seems to be a cluster of pale, dry plants, dead beyond repair. It's been so long since we all came up here. Since we even _hung out_. We were still friends, weren't we? Would that ever change?

Agatha's Fate crosses my mind. I switch my train of thought.

Given that this was once a castle, home of royalty and all, the tower roofs are set up like memorial exhibits. Every 5th turret has ancient, iron cannons leaning into the square-cut spaces. Wooden blocks with silver plaques affixed to them are placed around the edges of the fort. Baz picks up a rusting musket from a sheltered crate and aims it at the forest, but no bullet comes out. The weapons up here can't have been used in over 300 years, so it doesn't surprise us much. Baz drops the gun to his side and strokes one of the barrels, taking slow strides towards me.

The Wavering Wood expands to far reaches of the valley mountains. In front of the early setting sun, forest in the backdrop, he looks regal. Majestic. Like he's never known of firsthand evil.

"I don't know what spell to use," he mumbles. "A protection one might work, I guess."

This is unlike him, admitting to a weakness. He won't look at me, instead scanning the pointed treetops. It awes me. _This is unlike me._

"Maybe try a sonnet?" I suggest. "I mean, if you know one."

He shakes his head. "That's too much."

"I could help."

"I don't need your help."

Giving him a tired look, as if to say 'Seriously? This again?' I decide not to push and let him struggle. He readies his stance and stares out at the forest. I can't tell if he's scared or not. I never can.

"Actually..." He strains. "I'm still kind of drained - and you're useless otherwise. I'll tell you when."

That enlightens me a bit. I stand closer to him, leaning back against the castle wall, letting the sunset cast my shadow over the heavily pebbled gravel bricks that line the roof's platform. I catch Baz staring out of the corner of my eye, but I choose not to bring it up.

Well, not so directly.

"So, when are we going to talk about...?" I trail off, not really knowing what to call it. _Your crush on me. Your feelings. The fact you said you were in love with me._

Baz sighs heavily. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Snow," he lies, the forced pitching in his voice a clear giveaway.

I can't understand what tactic he's playing at. How could this _possibly_ benefit him? "Do you need me to be more specific, or something?"

"Go ahead." His consonant are harsh. He's still looking out at the forest, no longer gazing at me.

"The time when you admitted that you're a vampire. When you came out as gay. When you said you..." _Do I really want to say it?_ "...you're in love with me."

_I guess so._

He closes his eyes for a moment. "Snow, forgive me for not wanting to admit to my lowest point at Watford," he whispers. "I spent a long time trying to hide all of that, and a fucking tree forced it out of me."

I suppose I never thought about that - how long? How long has he had to live with all of this weighing on his shoulders? I push my back off of the wall and cross my arms over the turret next to him. "Why did you hide it?" I ask, before realising what I'd just asked. "Okay, no - I understand the vampire thing. But why wouldn't you tell anyone that you're gay?"

He stares at me, almost disgusted. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I... I've asked something stupid, haven't I?"

His face softens a bit, and he quirks an eyebrow. "You don't see a problem with people being gay?"

I shrug. "Should I?"

Baz is taken aback. I'm beginning to feel that fear I had anticipated. "No, its just...uncommon, I guess," he answers quietly.

We don't speak any more than that. My mind is too occupied with memory recollections, trying to figure out what could have given him away sooner had I thought about it. Ends don't meet, though, because all I remember is his bitterness, the war-zone we made of Watford. The lingering glares, the sleepless nights, the arguments about the Mage. I can't see a beam of light on any of it.

That is until I change my lens.

Lingering glares. It's in the title. _Lingering._ He'd stare at me through classes and study breaks in our dorm, even scanning me as we passed in the hallway. He wasn't glaring at all. He was looking at me. _For_ me. As though I wasn't myself without his searching for my identity. Baz, an admirer. Crowley.

Even at night, when he thought I was asleep and I thought he was planning my death - an unspoken miscommunication. He was doing it again. _Staring._ I'd been wrong to lose so many hours of rest over empty anxiety. He'd been wrong to assume I'd let him out of my sight.

The arguments...he was never condemning the Mage for saving me. For making me his heir. For bitterness or for the sake of a tease. He was condemning him for the scars and bruises his missions left me with. The blood I'd lost, not mourned because of a vampire's lust, but a protective love.

So if he's had this on his chest for what _could be_ years...how long have I felt the same way?

His head perks up at a sound only he can hear. "It's starting," he declares. There's a frown, more than the usual, coupled with a wild fear in his eyes. He scans the forest and sees the same smoke I do. "Oh _no_ , no that's bad."

"What do you mean?"

He readies his stance, pointing his wand out to the trees, now smoking far more profusely out in a clearing, deep in the wood. "Something's wrong," he tells me, shaking. "We're in trouble."

+++

**Agatha**

Penny, Emily and I are left alone when the boys leave rather abruptly. Emily links her arm through mine and clings to my side. I can never tell what she's thinking when she suddenly starts acting like this. Soft and romantic. Loving. I'm certainly not complaining, but it concerns me when she looks at me _so_ sadly, trying to keep a smile on her face. What could she possibly be thinking about?

Penny looks out at the Wavering Wood, turning her purple ring around and around her finger. She closes her eyes and twitches her eyebrows, trying to sense something. I'm guessing the results are inconclusive: she opens her eyes with a huff, pivoting away on the ball of her foot.

"I need to think of a spell," she explains. "Specific to fire as well. We've never covered Elemental Eradication spells - _why_ didn't I read up on this?"

Emily reaches a hand out to Penny's shoulder. "Try make one up?" She suggests. " _ **Catch fire** _ could work?"

"Yeah, or it'll set the school on fire."

"Win-win."

" _Emily!_ "

She giggles and hides behind my shoulder. Instinctively, I slide my fingertips down her arm, soft as raindrops, then hold her hand. It seems so natural. She looks down at the ground with a small smile on her face, pink lips looking luscious and tempting as ever. I want to run my thumb over them and feel them scatter small kisses over my shoulders and face ( _especially_ on my lips). I want to feel the world revolve around us as she kisses me, loves me. I want to feel the air warm in her presence. I want to _feel_.

These feelings aren't new anymore, though I've _never_ acted on them in this way. Part of me is confused as to why it isn't such a big deal as I'd imagined, but a counterpart suggests that it's because its just what was meant to eventually happen. This feels right. This feels safe.

"How long do you need to get ready?" I ask Penny, completely moving past the blessing in my hand.

Penny stares out into the dark density of the trees and sighs. "Ten minutes? I'm not sure," she says. "The idea is to catch the demon with no one getting hurt, so the best way to do that is by getting a shot straight into the epicenter of the chaos - thing is, we don't know where that chaos is going to be. It might not stem from the impact of the amulet and the marble - it could just wake up wherever."

"If Emily and I go into the forest, we'll cover more ground," I suggest.

Emily steps away from me. "That's a terrible idea," she frowns. "No, we shouldn't do that. We run the risk of being injured or killed - this isn't safe!"

Her words fall short of convincing me. Compulsion overtakes me, the sudden need to reenter the forest becoming the only thing I can see in my mind's eye. I can see us walking, hand in hand, not quite looking the way we're supposed to. I can see it, therefore that must be the truth.

There's fear there, though - the fear of losing my life if I enter alone. It's a known fact that I'm a weaker magician than the likes of Penny and Emily. Protection from them...that would make it all okay. Surely.

"Em, please," I beg, reaching to her hand. "I'm not as strong as you are. What if there _is_ an emergency? I won't be able to defend myself."

Emily pouts and closes her eyes. "Then _I'll_ go. I'm the only one who knows where it is, anyway."

I hold her hand tighter. "I'm going with you. Emily, you can't stop me. It's both of us or nothing - I'll drag you in there if I have to."

Emily considers it, chewing on her bottom lip. "Agatha, you've already got a death sentence on you, don't tempt it."

"We'll be fine," I insist, not entirely sure of myself. Although I don't say anything, I experiment with pushing magic at her through my eyes. She softens and locks our fingers together. "We'll be okay."

+++

I follow Emily through low branches and overgrown bushes, strolling with no haste to the clearing. A numb buzz pulls at the left globe of my brain. It's been there since I felt so inclined to follow Emily into the forest. The thought of doubt and regret passed over my thoughts, but I never indulged in the true feeling. The confusion in my brain is slightly disorientating.

Emily checks back on me every few moments because my head has caused me to fall behind. She reaches back to my hand and frowns. "You okay? You seem drowsy," she notes.

My eyes feel fuzzy and heavy. "Fine."

"Agatha, maybe you should go back."

A sudden clarity spread through the congested veins in my brain. It feels like walking into cool Winter air. "No," I insist, with the persistence of a soldier on commander's orders. "I have to go with you."

Emily stops in her path, stressing me out a bit. There's an urgency in my chest, leaving an unsatisfied burn in my thighs. We need to go, we need to find the marble again. Of course, time might not be a factor in this mission. If it is, though, we don't have time for this - I intend to be on the safe side of failure.

"Why?" Emily questions. "I don't need to be watched over - _you_ know that, _I_ know that, so what is this really about?"

The truth is, I don't what this is about. In all honesty, right at the back of my head, I want to go back to Watford and stand guard with Penny, ask her for help and advice regarding a certain curly-haired girl that stands before me. Even now, with us standing at odds, I feel adoration swelling through my body when I see her looking at me _like that_. With soft eyes and a concerned pout in her pink stained lips. I could love her. I swear I could.

"I know," I tell her, quietly, feeling an unknown dread in the pit of my chest. "But I think I'm doing this for myself."

Emily grimaces in worry, but accepts it with a small nod. When she turns around, the sickly confusion in my brain returns like bullet to my head. Only stumbling for a moment, my stubborn ignorance pushes it to the side, forcing my legs to catch up to Emily.

We enter the familiar looking clearing and stand upon the engraved tree stump in the center. Emily raises her wand to the sky once again, and belts out: **_"Marco!"_**

The tree to our left swings open, the same bouncing way it did before. Emily wastes no time in running over to retrieve the marble. The world around me shifts and shakes, but the trees don't rustle and the loose rubble stays in place.

"Do you feel that?" I ask. Emily doesn't notice.

"She won't hear you," a deep, all too familiar voice tells me. Dizzy fear sways through my bones, the world still vibrating around me. The Mage stands behind me, leaning against a tree, arms and ankles crossed.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper in fear.

"Technically, I'm not here," he responds. "Technically, _here_ doesn't exist. I'm speaking to you almost telepathically through a dream-speak spell I've cast."

The world blurs as I turn frantically to assess my setting. "How? There's no spell-"

" _Foolish!_ " He booms. "You have _always_ been foolish, Miss Wellbelove. Stupid girl - you thought you could out run death, out run _demons?_ Oh, how bitter this irony must be. In your plan to get away from these _precious_ Elementals, you ran into the most dangerous one of all."

I frown. Fire can't be _that_ dangerous...can it? Surely there must be something more...

His pupils are far more dilated than is normal, swirling speck of shining silver congregating in their centers, tiny fleck of glitter in elegant onyx nail polish. I realise now that I only see this because I've walked on shaky legs over to the Mage, and am only very few inches away from his gaze.

"You're possessed," I breathe. "The Magic elemental...you've known our game all along."

"Oh, more than that," he snarls. I flinch away when he leans closer. "I've been setting the board."

Emily seems to be standing where I had been before, waving her hand at a shadowed ghost of where I had once stood. She calls out, shattered glass fragments of familiar words flying like honey over to the tension between the Mage and I. In the air, as the sounds break and echo around the hollow, barely connected mid-world I've been trapped in, I hear a distant crackle, like the kindling we used to put on the fire on bonfire night. It irritates my head again, as I realise it's only in my mind that I hear it. The Mage is in my brain

"Awful, isn't it?" He asks. "Knowing you'll die someday. It's terrible to think that there'll be a day when no one in the world remembers your name, or what you did. Perhaps, Agatha, if you can't have a legacy in your lifetime, you could have one in your death."

The sweat on my neck chills my skin. "You lured me out here," I choke out. "You're going to kill me."

The Mage smiles a devil's crooked grin and laughs. "Oh, poor soul - you do have a choice. Either you're killing Miss Scott," he sets a flame at Emily's foot, invisible to her through the warped realms, "or you're killing yourself."

The shaking world is lurched to a stand-still, and I open my eyes to a terrified Emily, standing close in front of me. She hints a smile for barely a second before my own panic can be seen in her eyes. "Agatha? What-"

"Run," I tell her, shaking. "Run back to Penny and tell her it's the Mage. He's doing all of this, he-"

The crackling I had heard before returns, only now it's out of my head and standing right behind me. An almost human form, made entirely out of fire and magma straightens itself into an attacking stance. No face, no clothes. Just a vessel of burning chaos.

"Emily, go," I command watching as it taunts us.

"Fuck off, you're coming with me," she argues, grabbing my wrist.

"Go," I whisper, as the monster takes a slow, heavy step forward. "Go, go, _go, RUN!_ "

We sprint off, feeling the cool wind rushing past us go warm, and then hot. Emily has let go of my wrist, but we make our escape together. The amulet bounces off my ribs, hanging from my neck, so I rip it off. Damn the old chain, it was bound to break any second. The forest is slowly growing amber and red from the wrath of the Elemental, but the opening back to Watford is so close. For a moment, I'm almost sure I'll make it.

Then I look behind myself and see the flames that touch my hair and shoes. They gain on me, a distinct shape of a hand reaching to steal me in to the devastation. As I look back ahead and see Emily far up to the clearing I realise now that I can only imagine what death is like. It will only live as a concept, but I'm to unknowingly touch it in just a matter of moments.

Penny and Emily stand together, away from the trees, yelling to me. They say my name, they say to hurry, but I can only think about the amulet in my hand. With the forest fire surrounding me, my speed picking up, I throw it as best as I can to them. In a flash of horror, I see revelation dawn on Emily's face.

I see Penny holding her back, and I hear her scream " _AGATHA, NO!_ "

And then the burning hand pulls me back into the flaming tempest. I only see the dark for a second or two. All is numb. All is quiet.

It’s gone.


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the late update. i havent been in the best place as of late and have completely succumb to my lack of desire to do anything at all, but im turning that around!! i hope.
> 
> just a wee bit of grieving in this chapter, so nothing too much.

**Baz**

I hear Agatha screaming as she's taken.

I hear Emily wailing below the castle.

I can only cast a protection spell on them before a tornado of flames and branches rises from the center of the forest. There's something of a human shadow in the epicenter, and something so illicitly hopeful rises in my throat. "Agatha..." I whisper.

Snow looks up at me urgently. He doesn't have any clue that she's gone yet. Oh - I could cry. In any other case I'd be hesitant to show him any kind of softness, but we're far past that now. My hand goes to touch shoulder. The words can't get further than my empty intentions to tell him.

He frowns at me, squinting in the warm gale force. "What?!"

"Simon," I say, having to listen to Emily's patchwork of screeches and screams as I look at his clueless blue eyes. "Agatha's gone, Simon. I'm so sorry."

The warm wind whistles, the silence otherwise overbearing. Snow goes blank. I give him another silent apology. The only change in his face is the angle of his eyebrows. They rise in shock, then settle to tent above his eyes. Nothing is more heartbreaking than seeing the whirlpool swirl eyes as they water and tear, both from the ash and his devastation. "No...no this can't-"

"We have to keep going," I urge. 

My hand touches his cheek and wipes away the tears. How in Crowley's name am I supposed to comfort the Chosen One? Someone whose supposed to be so unshakably good that they can't feel grief in times of such urgency. He shakes his head. "No, I can't-"

"Yes you can! Just push into me, I swear that's all!"

I point my wand to the center of the Elemental, ignoring the tears I have running down my neck. There's no spell I can think of that will diffuse this situation any more. Snow is a baron shell beside me, holding my hand only to give me his weapon. Emily's despair has long since silenced in deafening anxiety. Bunce is trying to be a soldier before a human - I can hear her trying to hold all of these broken piece together, just enough to wait out this tragedy.

And Agatha is fucking _dead_.

There's a rumbling deep in the forest that catches my attention. It's nothing I've heard before. It's low and bone-shattering loud, like thunder going off in a tiny bunker. More sinister than an earthquake, more powerful. Snow doesn't seem to hear it as he steadies himself on one of turrets, a dribble of sick below him. He sobs again, then heaves, and doesn't even notice the sound of the detonation.

Perhaps its because I'm listening far too intently, or maybe it's because he can't hear it over his own panicked breathing. Either way, I seem to be the only one of us that sees the furthest trees splinter and break into tiny spears. Almost like...

"Stakes," I breathe. I notice this almost too late. The tips swing to point at us and launch through the smoke. I only just manage to drop behind one of the turrets. "Snow, get down!"

The first few spears fly over us. In the deafening confusion, Snow stands to assess. I frantically reach to pull him down as more stakes start to shoot out. His eyes widen when he realises what they are, how they know to _attack us_. He barely dodges two that were aimed for his head. Our hands grab each other and I pull, trying to keep myself out of firing range. In our struggle to stay hidden from the attack, a single spear lodges into his thigh, scarlet spreading across his grey sweatpants.

Snow screams as he falls. Hands balled in fists, shaking, cries of despair and pleading for it all to be over. Permissively holding him to my chest does nothing to help either of us. I can't see the wound but I can smell it. Seeing as I'm the school's local blood-sucking monster, Snow looks askance to me. After being at a school with people who happen to bleed on a monthly cycle, and being on a ruthless football team where getting injured is the _entire point of the game_ , human blood doesn't have much of an effect on me anymore. Never mind that it's gross. 

The stakes have stopped flying, seeming to be appeased with it's minuscule haul of destruction. Anger overtakes me. I grip my wand harder. Whoever is controlling this board (oh, yes - I _wonder_ who...) is starting to pick us off. How subtle, sending stakes after a vampire. 

How fantastic. They got the Chosen One instead.

It may have been cruel to rip out the stake from Snow's leg, but it would have been worse to let it hurt him any longer. I try to stop the bleeding with my jacket, even though he squirms and shouts out in pain.

_**"No pain, no gain!"**_ I cast on him, listening to his screeches settle into whimpers of discomfort. Bunce is getting more and more desperate with her spell, having to handle this all on her own. We never planned for so much destruction. Curses would know why. "Snow, hey - you're okay. You'll be fine, all right? I need you to lend me your magic for a while."

His eyes are squeezed shut, but he nods. We stand, me supporting him, and Snow with his arms around me like a koala bear. Below us, I see Bunce standing in front of Emily's limp body. Such a dedicated force, fallen to her knees to protect my best friend. Bunce's wand is pointed to the oncoming demon, foreboding her with hands of fire and a body of charred rock, glowing magma. It steps forward slowly, raising it's arms above itself to attack.

Snow's magic flows through to me, intoxicating my veins with power. Rage finds me again, and before I can think of a spell, I look out to all I see, and bellow out: **_"Make a wish!"_**

The fires all vanish into smoke and ash. Even the ones summoned into the Elemental's fists. It looks up, confused, just as Bunce throws the marble at its chest and casts **_"Catch fire!"_**

The Elemental is vacuumed into the particular spot on the ground where the marble sits. Penny falls to her knees, sobbing. There's no victory, no celebration. Nothing about this day constitutes as a win.

Snow leans dependently into my side, exhausted and upset. I have to set him onto the ground before I lose my grip on him completely. "You did great, Simon," I tell him. "Hey, you did well."

"She's gone," he weeps. I feel tears pressing at my cheekbones.

"I know," I nod, holding his hand. "I know."

He breaks down in tears again, and I can't help but pull him to me. What's more, he doesn't _need_ me to pull him. He falls right into my arms and lets me pick him up as he cries, allowing me to carry him down the (unnecessarily excessive) amount of steps to reach the girls.

The girls, minus Agatha.

The girls, where Emily was so devastated, fainted on the grass.

The girls, where Bunce is going to put on a brave face and help everyone but herself.

And Snow will undoubtedly crash harder than before.

+++

**Penny**

I'm torn between thinking there's a crushing weight upon my chest, clutching my throat and taking my breath, and feeling so light and despaired that I'm lost in the space between reality and chaos. I can hear Emily scream before I see the flames. She tries to run toward the fire, but as I run to stop her, there's a glint of gold in the air that catches her eye. My arms barely slip beneath hers before she collapses back onto me. Agatha is gone before I can even yell for her. In mere seconds all traces of the fire are blown out. All that's left is the ashes of the forest and trees skinned of their leaves.

"No..." I whisper, as far as my mourning will let me go. "Emily, wake up. Please, Emily. _Please!_ "

Really though, I'm begging for a miracle. I'm begging for whatever god or entity that's out there in the universe to have mercy and bring her back. It was a mistake, she wasn't supposed to go. I drag Emily back closer to the castle, chanting apologies to her and watching my own tears drip down onto her cheeks. Desperation draws the spells out of me, desperately trying to wake her up, but I can't put any magic into it. Agatha clouds my thoughts so heavily, I can't put much meaning into my spells (because I don't want Emily to wake up to see this. Then again, I don't want to be the one to explain it again - assuming she'll have some retrograde amnesia with how hard she fell.)

A presence, dry and hot, looms behind me. Embers prickle at the back of my neck as it advances towards me in a furious rage. Only meters away, I hear it swarm closer, the crackling of stray branches in it's path growing louder every moment I have my back turned. In desperation, I lash out blindly, roaring **_Stay put!_** with a force so powerful I begin to think my magic has been drained. The demon, body of ash and magma, eyes a pulsing heat of red and orange. It struggles on the spot as I stand, feeling the spell wavering under such a supernatural force. For a moment, I fear that I'm not strong enough to hold it there _and_ capture it.

And then I remember that I'm Penelope Bunce, and that if anyone's going to save these losers, it's me.

And I should have been more attentive with Agatha.

Anger and magic courses through to my fingers and channels into my ring, fire marble hitting the Elemental's chest as the remainder of my magic pushes out into an almighty cry of _**Catch fire!**_

The demon disappears in one way or another, but the forest sways to sky far faster than I can register. Emily and I lay on the ground near each other, Emily unwavering in her sleep, and me wincing in pain. The impact of my fall has knocked the air from my lungs, so any attempt to scream I make is a cracked wheeze. The forest, charred and wasting away, looks fuzzy without my glasses, but I'm still half-expecting to see Agatha's pale figure step out and run over, try to take care of me and all. I wish for that to every god, and every power there is, but to no avail. Simon and Baz find us before I can even let myself imagine her.

She's just gone.

+++

**Baz**

Part of me, right in the back of my mind, is screaming at me. It's telling me that there's more to Agatha's death than we know and it's not incidental that it happened. Right now, though, I set Snow down and let him stumble over to an inconsolable Bunce. I choose to ignore that voice.

"It's my fault!" Bunce sobs. Snow's lanky arms cradle her solemnly, jerking with sobs and rattling breaths. "I should have stopped her, I did _nothing!_ "

My hands ghost over Emily's face, gingerly thumbing away the tear-tracks that stain her cheeks. At my cool touch, she opens her eyes with a flutter. They're stained scarlet and still glossy. That only intensifies when she sees me.

"Baz?" She frets.

"It's me," I smile down at her.

"Is she-"

"Yeah." I nod solemnly. When Emily begins to cry again, I feel a wall inside me break and hold her closer to my chest to mask my own tears. "She did so well. She was so brave."

Unlike everything I've ever known Emily to be, she's quiet. "I could have saved her," she whispers to me, gripping the tips of her hair. "I left her, I let go."

Convincing two of the most amazing people I've come to know that they aren't responsible for another person's death is a soul-crushing job. I hold Emily to my side and kiss her head. "Don't blame yourself," I tell her, looking at Bunce as I speak. "It's no one's fault, okay? You can't accept that blame."

Bunce nods as Emily shakes her head, but Snow's gaze lingers on me for too long. I don't want to think right now. Especially about Snow. Though there's a feeling in my chest tells me that this is where my story takes it's next turn. I feel myself on the edge of falling into another regret, or a new chapter (they aren't always easy to see the difference in). Snow nods once at me, tears dripping from his face into Bunce's hair as he does, then turns his attention to the destruction behind us.

"Let's go," I whisper, more of a declaration than a suggestion. "Let's get out of here before anything else can happen."

+++

**Penny**

I stay with Emily through all of this. I have to, I believe, as we were both as close with Agatha as each other. She argues me on this. Says that Agatha has always loved me more. She does it in such a resigned, monotonous way that I can't fight her.

"Don't think about that," I say instead. "Think about anything else."

The truth' is, I'm really not handling this well. My chest has been burning as a final 'fuck you' to remind me of how ghastly fire can hurt. Agatha won't even have ashes, or a body. She's gone, with no proof to say that she really left us. Who's going to remember her?

For all that I'm suffering, though, Emily is doing it ten times better than I. No amount of tears has ever been shed that could match Emily, I'm sure. She's ha broken faucet. No matter how placid her face is, staring directly at the wall in front of her with a scowl set upon her lips, there are tears slipping out of her eyes at the corners. I'm not even sure she's aware that she's still crying. Either that, or she doesn't wish to acknowledge it.

"I'm thinking about her," Emily replies.

That's a complex answer to reply to. "What about her, exactly?"

"She had a phone," is all I get for a while. I knew this, of course, but why it's so significant is lost on me. "It was the only thing that made me think we could actually be together."

I lean forward, ignoring the creak of thee office chair I'm sitting on, right beside Emily's bed. "How come?"

A fond, quiet smile appears. "It made me lose this idea that I had of her. An idea that she was a 'good girl' who lived by the law of school rules. I don't know. It made me think we weren't so different."

Her voice rises and cracks through her words. There's so much pressure for her to stay composed in front of me. I know what she wants to say - _we were in love, but we never said it so blatantly_ \- but instead it stays in her shaking hands and her watery words.

Slowly, I reach my hand over to Emily's. I'm really not certain on where us two stand. We never really bonded the same way everyone else has. I scold myself for thinking so selfishly at a time like this, but my part in this team seems to start and end with 'problem solving' - even Simon seems to have put Baz in my place.

Crowley - is this how I grieve? By wallowing in my own problems? Agatha's dead seems like a quiet hum underneath all of this bullshit.

Emily takes my hand.

"I don't want to do this anymore," she declares, tone full of menace. "I want to kill the Mage and never look at Watford again."

"Emily, you can't-"

"Can't _what?!_ Can't fight the Mage? Can't _save Agatha?!_ I know that! I fucking know that already, Penelope! But I want to keep trying, even if I fall short! I could have saved her but I didn't try!"

"Emily, that's not-"

"I could be a better friend to Baz, but I don't try!"

"You can't always-"

" _I could have done more!_ " She yells, jabbing a finger at her sternum. "We could have done more!"

She dissolves into sobs and bumbling rambles, leaning into my arms as I eagerly pull her in. She has a point, I suppose. We could have done more. We _should_ have done more.

So, why didn't we?

It was something in the way the air fell around us earlier that day. The particular placement of it that made you swim through too many thoughts before there was a conclusion - an odd one, too. When we spoke, it was like a puppet show. Mouths moving, words happening - and from where? It unsettles me to think that I might not have been in control of myself.

Emily continues crying on my shoulder, no doubt piecing together whatever facts she knows of into some kind of answer that will numb the impact of all of this.

"It's okay, Em," I soothe, even though it's a damned lie.


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new zealand weather kanye not pls.
> 
> no warning for this chapter i think? minor discussion of blood, a wee bit of nostalgia and sadness. grieving, mostly tbh

**Baz**

I reluctantly let Emily go back to her room with Bunce. There's no telling what dark place she's going to stumble into with Agatha gone. I can't imagine what she must be feeling, walking into their dorm, all of Agatha's life and what's left of her settled there just across the room from her. The tangible ghost of the dream she once had for a future with Agatha.

But, now...

I pull Snow along through the corridors. His leg has become a debilitating grievance. Every time he puts too much pressure on it he sobs, gripping my arm tighter than anything prior. He apologises in broken words and weepy desperation, even when I'm telling him in constancy that it's okay, it's fine, because I don't mind if he hurts me. No matter how many times I tell him, he only shakes his head and leans into me further. We struggle over to the stairs. I have to stop myself from kissing his head, like I would to Emily. With Snow, it would be different. He'd _know_ it would be.

Just acknowledging this sends my head into another spin.

When we get to the stairs, I stop and hoist Snow onto my back, running up the stairs faster than he probably appreciated. As we enter the room, Snow drops voluntarily onto his good leg and stumbles over to his bed, wincing as his bloody thigh lands on the mattress. The first thing I can do is grab a towel and rush back to his side. Red spreads through the fuzzy white fabric as I press it on the wound. I chant _**Time heals all wounds**_ and other strings of healing spells to stop the bleeding. Snow continues to whimper mutely and nobly suppress his tears. Thankfully he's wearing sweatpants, so I rip the puncture in the fabric open and assess the damage.

"Are you okay with this?" He asks me breathlessly.

I frown. "What?" I ask in shock, before processing what he was _really_ asking. "Oh, yes. I'm...indifferent to blood - especially yours, it smells like someone tipped paprika and soap into your veins."

He squints and nods, holding his breath as I prod at the gash. Thank Merlin for magic - I do _not_ want to have to close his flesh.

" _ **A stitch in time saves nine!**_ " I cast, watching black string coil out of my wand and stitch up the skin. Snow calls out in pain. "You'll be fine. It's under control."

"It's not," he protests.

"Snow, you're okay-"

"She's gone."

I hold my breath and glance back up at him. He's not in hysterics anymore, but his red cheeks are covered in fresh tears. I can't think of anything to say that could comfort him. There's nothing I can do to make this better, and it's killing me.

"I'm...so sorry, Snow," I tell him softly. "Maybe this is a stupid question, but are you okay?"

He looks at me. I don't need him to tell me that I'm being thick.

"Okay, yeah," I whisper, standing up. Already, being this close to him is far too much. "I'll leave you alone, if you want-"

"No." He grabs my wrist, his hand shaking. "No, don't leave."

"Snow, what-"

" _Please,_ Baz. I'm just-" He jolts upright and grabs my shoulder. "I can't breathe," he sobs. "I can't, I can't _do this_. I want to _stop!_ "

My instincts take over, grabbing his hand and sitting up next to him on his bed. He squeezes my fingers together, and even though it brings an ache to my chest, I hold him. Close. Tight. As though we're being battered by forces hell-bent on separating us, I hold him closer, because I'm finally willing to admit to myself that can't lose Simon. Of all of hell's punishments, all the shit I'd go through to pay back my terrible deeds, losing Simon would hurt more than anything. I love him. Crowley - _why_ do I have to love him at a time like this?

"Hey, you're okay," I tell him, pushing him away to make sure he actually _can_ breathe. Rule number one of calming people down: _lie_. It's really all they want to hear. Snow coughs and chokes on his tears, pressing his fingers into the skin below his ribs. "You're breathing. I promise you, you're physically fine."

He dissolves into misery once more and leans forward, catching his breath. Curls that have strayed from his bronze mop touch my chest. I shudder. "I can't keep doing this," he whines out. "I can't do this anymore."

"Simon, you're doing so well," I tell him (I mean it). "We just need a little longer, that's all."

My hand finds its way in between his curls. "No, I can't!"

Three breaths and a moment later, I risk slipping my fingers through his. He doesn't argue, and holds onto my hand tighter. There's space in the air for words of comforts, but I'm not exactly a wordsmith when it comes to such a task. I search for lies, something frail and ghostly to fuel him on.

But there's more power in honesty. Something more to hold close to the heart. All of this cruelty we've been through, the shit Snow has dealt with his whole life, is a truth he believes so dearly. He has to live the tough life - for the better of our people. He has to hurt himself time and time again to feel as though he's saving us. It's not his fault.

"Simon...I'm so sorry. Agatha deserved better. _You_ deserve better. Crowley - I have always admired your courage, even now. Stay with us. Come on, you can do it."

Simon leans his head flat onto my shoulder, hiccuping through his words. "How can you admire _anything_ about me right now?" He sniffs. I have to laugh. There's never been a time when I didn't have relentless admiration for the golden boy in my arms. "I'm a mess, I'm crying. I'm _giving up_."

"Simon Snow, you are _always_ a mess," I reply, smiling (for his sake). "And you're crying. You know what? I'm not-" Simon stops his fidgeting. He probably expects me to revert back to old days of bullying and deprecation, "-because I'm scared to death of losing my guard around you. Also, you are _not_ giving up that easily. You're Simon fucking Snow - when have you ever given up?"

Simon continues to cry quietly onto my shoulder. "Right now," he weeps. "I give up right now."

Something in the way he says it makes me smile. The childlike tantrum whine that sighs out of his mouth isn't the boy I know. With a small push, I move him up to his pillow and pull the blankets over him. "How about you sleep on it, Simon?" I suggest. He's still crying softly. "Don't make any decisions until you've calmed down a bit. You're talking bullshit right now."

With a final, indulgent stroke of his hair, I stand up and leave him to mourn on his own. As I turn to my bed to turn in, though, I feel a hot hand grab mine and squeeze hard. "No, _don't_ leave," he pleads. "Please, Baz, I just- I can't...not tonight."

Confusion and concern overtake me. My eyes widen when I see him spiraling into panic again, immediately moving closer and holding his hands. "Okay," I nod with earnest, sitting down next to him. "Okay, I won't go."

He pulls me closer and nods. I crawl in next to him and hold him like I did before, hand buried in his hair again. He shakes and sobs against me, squeezing my t-shirt in his fist. I only stay awake for what feels like a few minutes, before I feel Simon sigh against me and relax, and I can finally sleep knowing he'll be okay.

+++

**Simon**

The way I see it, the Baz I've known for years upon years is still in the room with me. The quiet, paper toned breaths that pass through his parted lips are the same as they've always been, only this time they're closer than ever. He's the one who held me through the night and he's the same one who absolutely melted when I broke down in front of him. Somehow I know that he's the same person that pushed me down the stairs and degraded me for so long, but now I can't quite see that as clearly as I used to. It's clouded by everything he's done in these past weeks, the side of him he's chosen to show us. The side he's shown me.

No matter how lovely Baz was, though, how much he made me think he cares, Agatha is still gone. She's gone, and I'll only repeat my mourning every night when there's nothing there to distract me. Baz can't keep pulling me back and rocking me to sleep every time I get weepy. So long as Agatha's gone... I don't know how I'm supposed to keep it together while he's around.

I wake up facing the window, sunlight spilling onto my skin as clean as acrylic paints on canvas. The room smells of Baz and his magic, no feeling of pain in my leg wound any more. I'm alone under my covers, curled up in a blanket that wasn't there for me last night. As the world grows brighter, I look to the end of my bed and see a tray of tea and pastries set out next to my leg. Baz sits perpendicular to me at the foot of my bed, staring out ahead of himself. When I rise, he slowly turns to look at me, seeming to wake up at the sight of me.

"I got you breakfast," he mentions, nodding to the tray of food. "I figured you'd want some scones - you always do."

My eyes have to adjust to the light, cold air tingling my neck as the blanket slid from my shoulders. I sit up and blink a few times, rubbing the night away. "You'd be right," I answer, voice low and creaking. Baz looks away and sucks on his bottom lip. "Thanks. How long have you been awake?"

He shrugs. "Long enough to consider the implications and consequences of bringing you breakfast, considering..." He waves his hand between us. "...everything."

I laugh at the idea of a smile, looking up at him briefly to see him grimace. I pour two cups of tea on the tray and take a scone. Baz sighs deep and takes his tea, his gaze avoiding me all together.

"Listen, Snow..." He begins reluctantly. "I don't know how to help you mourn. I'm not good with sympathetic pep talks, or giving you the whole 'it gets better!' speech." He sighs in defeat. "However... I can take your mind off it for a while, as well as give you some answers."

The mood is far too average for me to handle. My eyes drift to my tea. "Honestly, that's all I want right now."

Baz takes a sip of his drink and sighs. "Ask anything. I'll answer, then go get drunk and forget it ever happened."

That makes me chuckle. I pull my blanket up higher and settle back into the headboard of my bed. "Are you drunk right now?" I test.

Baz rolls his eyes. " _I_. _Wish_."

Crumbling scone fills my cheeks and softens at the taste of cherry and tea. As soon as I finish my mouthful, I look up to him. "How long?" I ask vaguely. "I mean..."

"I know what you mean," he whispers. Hesitation parts us for a few moments, before he smiles from one side of his mouth. "Do you remember that time our classes were cancelled after the Botany class lured dragon hatchlings into the school?"

The memory is faint, but it bring a smile to my face. "In first year, yeah."

Baz sits up. "I was studying when you got back. You were so scared of me..." He laughs lightly. "Even then, though, you treated me like anyone else. You handed me a chocolate bar and asked me what I was working on. I was a rude piece of shit, of course, because I touched your hand and thought my whole world had crashed. It surprised me, and scared me, so I tried to push you as far away from me as possible. I was confused, I guess.

"I suppressed that for a long time. I genuinely thought I hated you until third year. You went on some mission for the Mage and didn't come back before curfew, and I genuinely thought you were dead. I spent so long panicking, not knowing why I cared so much. I nearly kissed you when you walked through the door..." He glances at me from the side. "Er, sorry. That wasn't meant to be said aloud."

I can't take my eyes off him. "It's fine, keep talking."

I can tell he's been feeding this morning, because his cheeks tint pink as I stare at him with a soft, fond smile. "That's when I realised that I maybe liked you. Fifth year - when I pushed you down the stairs, yes - was when I started to like you a lot. It was a hormonal time, I don't know. Half the shit I did to you that year was just to get closer to you."

I take another scone and smile down at it. "And then you had to push me away," I joke. Baz smiles, embarrassed. "All the way down the stairs."

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and grins. "Yeah, well, I do apologise."

"So, why now? Why is it so important now?"

Baz sighs, hands wrapping around his teacup. "I got scared. This mission you're on, I couldn't let you do it alone. I know the amulet and I know you - it's not a great mix. The more you tried to fix everything, the more I felt myself losing it. I've been looking out for you for so long, but never as upfront as this."

That confuses me. "Wait, you've been-"

"The room doesn't clean itself," he chides, grinning wickedly. "And you don't actually think the Mage has been giving you gifts, right?"

My eyes glance to the corner of the room where the blue and grey sweaters are folded on my chair. "That was you?" I question, suddenly elated and unable to stop the joy on my face. "They're lovely, thank you."

Baz looks away and shrugs. "You were cold, I didn't want to hear you cough all night."

"Really?"

He blushes more obviously now, hiding his smile from me behind his cup of tea. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he mumbles into his drink.

With a sense a foresight, I find myself biting my lip as I move the tray of tea and breakfast onto the floor. Baz's eyes widen, but he tries his best to pretend that he hasn't noticed me, even as I moved closer to him to look out the window. Beyond the trees that line our building, I see the empty, frosted football pitch. It's baron without Baz there, it always is. Any time he's substituted on a game (it's rare, though it has happened), the field is far less spectacular than it usually is. The more I stare out at the pitch, the tree where I sat with Penny just to watch the football all those games ago, the more I realise that I only really watched to look at Baz. It was the only time I used to see him smiling, free and graceful, completely in control of everyone around him. He was undoubtedly attractive, but Agatha would always cloud my thoughts when I felt anything like that.

As my hands run through my hair, I'm abruptly reminded of how soft Agatha's hair used to be, how it would drape over my chest when we lay on her carpet at Christmas time, sneaking mulled wine and cider past her parents just to get buzzed. That was my favourite time to be with her, because neither of us were pretending. We were best friends, in those moments together, the way it should have been far before we broke up. We weren't trying to forge water from a rock - we were exactly as we should have been.

I don't miss our relationship. I don't miss kissing her dizzy or the nights we'd spent sleeping in each other's arms. No, I don't regret it, nor do I miss it. I miss Agatha. Everything that she ever was. Brave, smart, loving, kind...her youth was wasted by my stubbornness, and taken by a war she never wanted to fight.

The thought of her drops my mood. Baz notices as my smile falls short, fingertips pressing to the glass of the window, trying to reach back to the memory. Back to Agatha. He puts a hand forward.

"You okay?" He asks.

With a small sniff, I convince myself to suck it up for a minute and smile. When I look back at him, Baz isn't buying my facade. I tap the glass with my nail and shrug. "I used to watch you play football under that tree," I tell him, trying hard to keep my voice steady, smile bright. "You were gorgeous when you played. I used to need you to notice me, and when you did...I can't describe it. It was like this kind of warm fear that made me dizzy and confused. I guess I didn't feel that with Agatha."

The room falls silent again.

"All she wanted was peace," I whisper, staring down at my fingertips, pressed against the glass. My face begins to ache, nose stinging. "I suppose, in the end, she did get that."

Baz's hand twitches, eyes engrossed in thought. After a moment, I hear him sigh, before a cold hand takes mine. He turns to face me and follows where my eyes were fixed. "I used to show off for you," he comments. "Mostly to make you bitter about not being on the team, but also to get your attention. You were so blind, though. Agatha was your world." A few tears roll to mine and Baz's locked hands from my jaw. "You loved her well, that's the best you could have done, Simon. You made her life great."

I smile appreciatively and hiccup out a laugh as I wipe my eyes. "Who are you?" I giggle. "This isn't like you at all."

Baz leans back. "Yeah, well. Someone's got to look after you."

His cheeks are rosier than I've ever seen. I'm almost giddy at how cute it is. "Are you blushing?"

Baz tries to force a frown again. "What? No, I- no."

"It's fine, Baz," I chuckle, blotting up tears with the sleeves of my jersey. His eyes are brighter than I've ever seen, smiling in both euphoria and confusion. I consider taking it all back and insulting him, just to keep things normal between us, but instead I stop my fidgeting and stare at him through the cold tears soaking my eyelashes. "I get what this all means to you."

The hand in mine stiffens. In all the time I've known Baz, I've never seen him let his guard down so much. He seems to have let go of whatever heinous ties that held him back from acting _human_. His eyes actually look _bigger_  now, because for once he isn't glaring at me. Instead he's letting his pupils bore into me, like a begging dog. When my words process in his mind, his lips part in surprise and he inhales deeply. Eyebrows pull inwards, thought overriding his eyes as he frowns, we don't look away from each other through his hesitance to reply. 

"Penny wanted to see us downstairs," he declares abruptly.

"Baz-"

"Thank you for the pity party, Snow, but we both know that this is...wrong."

He looks broken as he slips out that last words, the way it rolls out clashing with the atmosphere being a terrible cadence on our conversation. Maybe he needs to feel like this is all the same, far more than I do. Maybe we both need to move a bit slower into whatever reality we're entering.

"Oi, prick," I call out behind him on the stares. I see his shoulders release their tension, and the dangerous smile that hides under his sneer.

"What?"

And I hug him. It is nothing soft, or loving, or caring in any way, but it's a thank you. My arms go up over his shoulders and knock his body to mine with the relentlessly boyish force that I see him and his teammates do all too often. He startles, but relaxes and returns the favour, around my waist. 

"Thanks," I say, and that's all. No embellishments on what I'm thankful for, no affirmations for either of us. Just that much. Baz burrows indulgently into my neck.

(I'm not scared he'll bite. He'd never do that. I know that now, and I'll believe that for as long as I live. Baz would never hurt me like that. Other ways, maybe, as all people do - but he'd never turn me without my consent.)  

With as much detail as I could give, the brief embrace was just that - brief. It was two seconds, some words, then three seconds longer, before we dropped arms rather hopelessly and went on our way. I do Baz a favour and walk exactly beside him, not speaking and not intending to bring it up again. His strides shorten to let me keep up, and he doesn't look my way either. It's better this way, I keep having to remind myself: because there's no use breaking the poor boy's heart so mercilessly when I didn't want to be with him _like that_.

Except...

Except now I don't know.

 


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry that this is late as heck, i've been having a bit of a tough month and a bit but!!! here she is!!!!!!!

**Simon**

Penny doesn't even call us over to where she and Emily had chosen to sit. She simply looks up when we enter and looks down again as we walk over. There's a quick stall and double-take at the sight of our proximity, close and distanced at once. Even Emily lingers on us as we enter. Her usual lively fidgeting seems dismal and numb.

Baz parts from me as soon as he catches sight of a mourning Emily. He's at her side just a few moments before I sit at the seat nearest Penny. Baz doesn't rush, or fuss, but before he can give Emily the opportunity to greet him, he's tucked her into his side and held her hand loosely between his fingers. Emily is just about catatonic.

An empty seat pervades the table. My neck and eyes burn at the sight of it. All of us, even Baz, give an unintentional moment of silence for Agatha.

"We can't dwell," Penny persists, though the shock of her own voice indicates that she's far from coming to terms with the tragedy. I offer a sorry gaze, but she vetoes it for the sake of moving on. "The only Elemental left is Water, then we take on the Mage."

Her words are faltering as she speaks. None of us blame her, but Baz is the one to pull her off topic: "Bunce."

"We need to think abou-"

"Bunce, stop."

"No, we have to-"

" _Penelope_."

Penny stops speaking to brace herself on the table and cry. I've so selfishly forgotten all of the times this has happened before, and find myself at a loss for helping her. Only fragments of it are there, surfacing through the jumble of disordered thoughts that seem no different from the usual. By the time I can make up my mind, I remember few parts: don't touch, don't patronise, leave her for a few minutes to sort it out.

Instead, I beckon her softly. "Hey, do you want a few minutes?"

And as though that was the kindest gesture I could have given, she swallows back a sigh and hugs me with care. We both relax into each other, but I'm careful not to let myself feel too much of her grief and jeopardise us both. We need each other, but right now she needs me - I'm not so selfish that I'd discount that for a bit of attention.

Penny leaves quietly, arms tucked across her body, making her seem so small. I want to run after her, make sure she doesn't have a panic episode of any kind, but I know better. Baz watches her leave and sends me an unspoken question. I answer it as honestly as I can.  _Yeah, she'll be fine._

"Maybe we should come back in a few hours," Emily whispers, though showing no signs of leaving. "I want to speak with Simon without you, Baz."

"Ouch," Baz retorts, not at all hurt by her comment. "But fine. I have something I need to do anyway. You know how to find me."

Although he's keeping a brave face, I can see through his confidence. It worries me that he doesn't even hesitate to leave while Emily is in such a state, and worries me more when I work out that it's because he trusts me to take care of her. Furthermore, I've no idea what Emily could possibly want to say to me. I can guarantee that it's nothing I want to deal with right now, though.

"He won't be long," she tells me. Her voice doesn't seem to hold permanence in her body as it breezes through the space between us, hollow and tired. "He doesn't like abandoning his family."

I smile at that. Baz, who is notorious for loving nothing and no one, is softer than he gives himself credit for. "He's lucky to have you," I say, when I decide that it's not fair to tell her just how lucky she is to have him. "You keep him human."

Emily doesn't even flinch.

"I need to talk to you about Baz, and everything he told you," she admits.

Agatha's presence is still foreboding over us. I feel hot guilt burn my neck as we stray away from her memory completely. "Can it wait? Is this really the time?"

"Baz and I are two parts of a whole deal," she goes on, ignoring the shake in her voice that overtakes her first few words. "One of us struggles, the force we have to have to protect each other crumbles. He is hurt, but that can be fixed. I'm just... going to need time. Are you willing to help me fix him?"

I wait two beats before I respond. "We spoke this morning," I admit. "I'm not sure how much help I can do. He explained how he felt, when it started, why he kept it all secret... maybe he needs time too. I'm more than willing to give that to him."

Emily is distant. She looks as though she's dreaming with open eyes, or perhaps reliving Agatha's last moments still. "He isn't okay."

"I know."

"I want to help him."

"Desire and potential are different things, Emily. You can 'want' all you like. Whether you actually  _can_  help him..."

As soon as I say it, I understand why she wants this so badly. I feel the familiar chill of realisation over my shoulders and put a hand forward.

"Stop blaming yourself."

Her eyes water.

"You did nothing wrong-"

"But I didn't do anything right, did I?"

Crowley. It was like I was listening to myself in an echoing cavern. All of Emily's words are hollow and distant, I'm barely convinced that she believes what she's saying - I think she's just guessing at what she's meant to feel.

"Emily, I know we don't always get along," I whisper, "but you love Agatha. And Agatha loves you. Wherever she is - she does."

Emily sobs a twice, but doesn't seem to cry. Unfortunately, I understand exactly how she feels. Everything I feel is dowsed out with reality now, my grief lasting all of one night. I see Emily, I know Agatha is gone, and the thought hurts. But it's numb.

Maybe I'm in denial, because I keep expecting to hear her boots clicking across the hall. Maybe I'm wishing she'll be alive tomorrow when I wake up. Maybe...

Maybe grieving isn't as straight-forward as five simple steps.

"I don't want to see you upset," is all I can bear. Emily stops her sobbing and stares back at me, tearing and shaking. "I know that I feel the same, I just can't get it out. I could with Baz, and I'm sure you would, too. Somehow, he's just...there."

She nods. Even smiles. " _Right_  there."

We grin at each other a little bit. Emily gives me a small nod. I have no idea what for, but I'm enjoying the positive affirmation of it. I nod back.

I'm sure, wherever the fuck Baz went, he'd be a little bit proud of us.

 

+++

 

**Baz**

Mother's grave is a sight for sore eyes with everything going on. I can't say I'm as miserable as the others about Wellbelove, but I can't really say I've felt anything but numb for the past few weeks. Ever since this started, I woke up feeling myself tremble unsteadily on the new ground with the Magelings, and somehow I feel like Agatha's death is going to expose this involuntary apathy within me. It's sickening to think that I've suppressed this already. I tell Mother this, at length.

With Agatha now dead, the weight of grief sitting ambiguously upon my shoulders, I find myself having to push positive energy out for the likes of Emily and Snow (even Bunce, apparently) - something I'm not able to do so effectively. It's only been a short time, but I'm already feeling that responsibility creep up on me. Serving Snow breakfast, putting smiles on and trying to have a laugh with Emily, if only to distract them from the suffering for a while. As I tell Mother this, I realise exactly what I'm doing. I'm mourning vicariously through my mother.

And oh, do I cry. I miss her so much some days, it strangles me and holds me hostage. Those are the days where vengeance and violence and fire play on my mind in a loop of temptation, usually caught up in my jealousy and lust for Snow. I can't say that there's been a recent day where I felt okay. There's always something. The only common thread is that I end every single day the same: knowing all of this could be solved with some motherly advice.

I don't remember ever grieving so passionately. Agatha's death wasn't supposed to be this painful, but I still find myself mourning the moments where she made Emily smile so exuberantly, when she joked with Simon and Penny, drew out those quiet, sweet laughs that I realise I miss so dearly.

When I decide that I can't be alone so indulgently anymore, I touch the flowers gently and cast  ** _Smile for the camera!_**  on myself, though it only makes my image slightly more presentable, and trudge on to mine and Snow's room.

Through the door, I can hear him walking out of the bathroom. He seems startled to see me, but softens as he assesses me.

Softly, he asks, "Where did you go? Emily and I looked for you."

And I barely reply, "Catacombs."

He seems to understand. A look of pain crosses him, but he doesn't act on it immediately. He bustles on with whatever he was doing, so I walk to my bed. It's not what I want to be doing, but have no idea what I want right now.  _Motherly advice_.

I should call Daphne, swear her to secrecy on everything.

"Baz?" Snow beckons. My back is facing him, thank Merlin, because I've started tearing up again. I can't tell him what's wrong - it's so muddled and tangled that I don't have a clear answer right now. It feels insensitive to be grieving and still not understand why I'm sad.

"Baz," he persists. Softer, this time. Defeated.

"What?" I bite, shielding my shaking voice with anger. "What can you possibly want?"

But my voice cracks, and I can't stop myself from weeping again. Snow drops whatever he was holding and sits down by me, on my bed. With my pride, it feels humiliating to curl up the way that do. It's cowardly to hide, I know that, but my ego can't take many more hits. Snow places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, come on," he soothes. "Sit up and talk to me."

"Fuck off."

" _No_. Tell me what you're thinking." His thumb begins moving back and forth over the edge of my bone in a steady rhythmic motion. "Even if it's something irrelevant. Talk to me."

The warmth from his hand extends to my neck in spider webs that lull every ounce of panic that had been restlessly pounding in my chest. Everything subsides, leaving only the comfort of Snow's touch for me to focus on. For a moment, I'm only aware of the pressure he's adding to my shoulder; the too-long unwashed bed sheets poking my face; the hairs in front of my eyes that are far too defined at this close range. I curl up tighter, wishing this was all I had to pay attention to.

"You're not having a good run, are you?" He asks softly.

"Are any of us?"

"I don't hold this all against you, you know. I don't mind that you're a vampire."

I giggle, in my half-way to dissociated state. "Ah, yes.  _That_  was the most significant confession I made."

Snow smiles. Audibly. He has this little huff that accompanies every grin he gives me, a little jolt in his shoulders, too. It's like he's trying to laugh. 

"Thought it was some kind of unspoken line that we don't cross so casually."

"What, that I have a crush on you?" I check. I'm teasing him, mostly just testing our boundaries. Partly trying to distract him from the show I just put on. Snow laughs.

Except he  _more_  than laughs. He falls softly down to press his head to my shoulder, right beside his hand. I think, for a second, that he might set me alight with all of his warmth and crackling magic (to be fair, it hasn't stop sparking in weeks), but I can't bring myself to hate it. I can't hate this moment. This is the kind of snapshot I want to have so many more of, to look back on when we've inevitably parted ways. If I have to live through a platonic relationship with Snow, I at least want this reaction to be the summary of us.

"For how  _long_ , man?" He asks. Crowley, he sounds like a Scouser. 

"Oh, don't shame me like this."

"No, come on."

"You would never respect me. Ever."

" _That long?_ "

We laugh again, as though we've never known each other as enemies. I roll onto my back and ignore the tears that so gracelessly adorn my cheeks. Snow leans back on his elbows, over my legs.

"How did I not notice?"

"Are you kidding me? You're fucking dense, mate."

He's laughing so hard, there's no noise. It's a contrast from the conversation I was preparing to have with him. I'm about to congratulate myself on another masterfully dodged bullet, when Snow pats my hand.

"You sure you don't want to talk?" He asks.

I hesitate. Maybe  _he_  wants to talk to  _me_  about all of this bullshit. That would be kind of low of him, though; piggy-backing on my meltdown. Simon Snow wouldn't do that.

So maybe he just cares.

"I'm not that good at grieving. Agatha...wasn't supposed to hurt this much. Makes me-" I sigh deeply, realising how tired this must sound to someone on the outside. Snow is still listening, though. "It makes me miss my mother. Like everything does."

Simon huffs a little at my self-deprecation, grinning quietly. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Look, no one is going to grab flaming pitchforks and riot after you just because you miss your mum still. Even at a time like this. Not like we get to control what we feel."

His hand is still over mine. It's putting a hold on everything I'm supposed to be feeling - a cheat's way out. Simon Snow, rightfully tearful about his lost friend, looking like he placed diamonds on his cheeks for a spread in Vogue. I'm almost certain my jaw has dropped.

He smirks without looking at me. "Staring."

I gently turn my hand over, beneath his, our palms touching. "How are you?"

Simon just shakes his head, eyes growing crimson and glossed with such perfectly dormant tears. His curls shift almost mechanically. "No, I'm meant to be helping you. No use if I'm too busy crying."

"Maybe we should sleep, then. Come back to grieving with clear heads."

Even though I know this means he'll up and leave to go to his own bed, for once I'm not afraid that we'll wake up worse than the night before. Especially since he squeezed my hand and didn't let go, didn't even move, as he agreed that we both needed rest.

"Baz?"

"Hm?"

"Would it be weird if I asked to sleep on your bed tonight?"

A pause. "I guess."

"I'm asking anyway."

The bed is big enough for the two of us. Plus, we did it just last night. "Yeah, sure," I answer, as evenly as I can manage. "Just tonight."

"Just tonight."


	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a Bad Updater :( sorry babs i love u

**Emily**

There's cruel nostalgia all over Watford now that Agatha is gone. The willows among the stormy winds, dark clouds that mute all colour from the stained glass windows that used to catch in her hair so whimsically. For all she hated magic, she surely was the poster child for it. Agatha Wellbelove.  _Deceased_. I could burn the school down with just that thought alone.

I know Baz feels the weight of this all too much and has scampered away to lick his wounds in peace, but he was never the one that needed attention. I didn't think I was either, but suppose it's only fitting that the universe stays on this tumbling streak of fucking me over. I miss her. Of course I miss her. We were so close, almost something - I hate it, I hate that it was  _almost_. If I cry anymore, I'm going to melt into a puddle like a true witch, accept my fate as the dregs of something that could have been greater.

Sitting in the Great Hall really isn't too great at all. I can't bring myself to cry - to do  _anything_  - other than swing my legs and force myself to enjoy the laws of gravity. That is until I hear faint sobs and mournful weeping down the corridor, in a truly Penelope Bunce tone.

I walk mindlessly to her. I don't remember parts of it, but I'm far too aware of the moss and plantations growing in the corners of the halls. When I see her, I'm not entirely sure where we are (everywhere in this forsaken school looks the same), but I don't mind.

I sit beside her silently, one leg thrown out straight, the other bent to my chest. "Come here often?"

Penny tries (really truly) to laugh, though we both know how far that was going to get. She turns her head to me and offers a shaky smile. "Everyday, actually. You?"

I shrug. "Don't really know. Why do all of these corridors look the same? Do they hate us?"

" _Clearly,_ at least one of them hates us."

I nod approvingly. "There it is.  _Spite_. Don't you just love her?"

Penny giggles. Watery, but true. "She's certainly got a way with me."

I have to smile, nose scrunch and all, because for all the disdain I had against Bunce (ironically, out of spite), she knows how to fill a void.

"You miss her?" She asks. Checks. Making sure I haven't moved on too quickly.

Or maybe she can smell Agatha's perfume on my wrists.

"Why did her things not disappear out out the window like they would with Anathema?" I ask, voice shaking. "I'm feeling pretty, ridiculously hurt right now."

Bunce doesn't regard me. "It's tradition - if a student perishes, the magickal registry lets the parents know, and they come to get their child's belongings, and they lead some kind of requiem out to the gates."

It would be cruel to laugh. I don't quite stop myself, though. "Can you imagine anything more miserable?"

To my relief, Penny laughs too. "Honestly, I can't. It feels sort of wrong to make strangers do that - but the  _parents_. Lugging all of that stuff through the school. Haven't they suffered enough?"

I laugh again. It's nice that we're able to lie with each other so comfortably now. With a sigh, I stand. The air feels dormant and disgusting, like wading through sludge and water. I hold out one hand for Penny, offer her a smile.

"Let's have a sleepover," I declare. "No reason we can't mourn together, like the mature adults we're fighting like."

Penny laughs sadly and takes my hand.  _Mature adults_  - just another lie we're so comforted by.

×××

Grieving without closure is a hard thing to do. I know this too well, now.

Penny moves from sleeping in a haphazard slump on the floor to cradling me in her arms as I sob uncontrollably. Just one photo set it off. A damn Polaroid that had probably been left at the door by a lingering wraith. My guess is Winter - she had her mouth sewn shut before she died, so all of her shrieks and screams are muted, sounding farther away than they really are. She could have left it without a soul (dead or alive) noticing. Between the girls in Mummers, we all pity the irony of her afterlife, but  _damn_  she can be heartless.

Later through that night, I'm woken up by Penny's panicked bawling. She cried as she let out streams of apologies like spells, her magic flaring at points of high stress. I keep telling her that it's all okay, I don't mind, do what you need to do. After all, Penny tends to be the one holding us all together. No one is able to stay above the water  _that_  well.

Her hugs are always soft and cuddly hard to panic in, but my lanky arms and pointy angles seem less than comforting. Even so, I squeeze her tight and let her lie in my bed, kissing her head and quietly soothing her with words of reassurance. She snuggles into me once her panicky episode has subdued. We're both crying while we watch ourselves parallel the nocturnal creatures outside the open window.

I accept, cuddling Penny closer, that this was going to be no quick fix. If Agatha were here, she'd smile and tell me it'll all be okay.

But she's not.

×××

**Baz**

I feel bad, prying Simon's hand from my shoulder in the morning. Not that I want to leave (he makes  _everything so warm_ ), but I haven't fed in a while, and the forest still reeks of smoke and ash. Every time I breathe too deeply, I'm compelled to reach for my cigarettes (stolen from Fiona) and break a two month streak smoke-free. I intend to at least get high off the smell if I can't fix it myself.

The forest is barely forest at all, now. Ash and embers gather in clumps and pile off of scorched tree corpses. Even as I trudge through the carnage, I feel the residual heat echoing from the dying fire.

Seeing this forest, the same forest that made home to Emily and I for so many nights, burnt by a destruction that would never be brought to the light of justice, made an anger so miserable curl below my heart like poison. Even the clearing, a place that held sanction for the two of us, is blown apart in a mess of smoldering branches and smashed glass. It could bring me to tears if I let it.

It may seem morbid, but I silently seek out any trace of Agatha. A shoe, a ripped cloth, a  _sign_. There's nothing, though. It's all gone.

I feel myself accepting defeat far too easily, looking out at a place I was once so attached to. I've lost so much.  _We've_  lost so much. This will not be stripped of it's worth out of malicious intent. Not while I can save it.

My hands bury into the ground at the base of the forest, wand underneath my palms. With calculated breaths, I concentrate on an image of the forest I once loved. There's life there still, I know it. I  _feel_ it. The roots of the trees are still growing and curling through the cool damp dirt. I hold onto that feeling, too.

With all of this, I push magic into my wand and let it breathe into the earth, wishfully casting out:  _ **"Bid my blood to run!"**_

The spell itself is a weak one. It simply holds the life that already exists within a space, and accelerates it's growth rate. Magic is a lot less cool when you think about it like science, though, so basically it revitalises a dying being. Ergo; saves a dying forest. Doesn't resurrect a dead thing.

With hope in abundance, I look up to the trees and hope for the best. Where I expect to see smoke and ash, green leaves are sprouting out of branches that extend and grow skywards, tangling among themselves like they would before. Flowers of all blushing colours curl up the trunks of trees, more alive than I've ever seen them. There's a fluttering hope in my chest that intoxicates me, for only a moment, until the dream is abandoned in favour of reality. Hands unsteady with the grasp of my wand, rise from the ground, slowly bringing myself to take in the sight before me. The Wavering Wood, in all of it's glory, returning it's beauty to Watford.

All at once, I'm relieved and quivering in shock. This makes it all surreal. Life where there should be destruction. It throws me.

I'm ready to leave, turning to leave, when I'm thrown a little more.

Someone, in the forest, is coughing.

I don't remember turning around, but I sure as fuck know I'm running back into the Wood. I stop and start, darting between trees as I try to listen out for whoever it is. The longer I take, the worse the coughing gets. Choked splutters that seem to couple with hoarse whimpers of pain.

The moment I find them, all I see is an ash covered arm lying in the grass, singed and torn clothing in a pathetic trail from the base of the Wood. The body shakes and heaves in pained cries before I can reach them.

And all at once, I know who I see.

"Agatha?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao baz used an evanescence lyric what an emo nerd


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who's the worst??????me. i am the worst. but im gonna DIE before i let this story do the same w a t c h m e

**Agatha**

The thing is, I wasn't going to make it on my own.

I remember the heat of the forest, how it bumbled atop my skin and drew sweat from my pores as Emily and I high-tailed to the edge of the forest. I remember the way the trees shook and stuttered like a dodgy satellite signal. I remember seeing the castle as the trees thinned and light poured over Emily's almost-onyx hair.

Then, I remember fire.

And that's it.

The smell of burning wood sent me back to a hazy memory of bonfire night with Simon and Penny. I could hear nothing except for muffled dialogue and laughter, the clear crackle of the bonfire, and the all too present sound of my own breath. The vision of it blanks out at times, and I'm left just listening to myself. Stuck. Screams caught in a throat that doesn't feel like my own anymore.

When I open my eyes, I'm back in the forest, staring down at what might be my own body. It charred and covered in ash and dirt, like I've been buried already. There's open flesh, blood and bone, a gory mess that just on't sink in. This isn't real. It can't be.  _This isn't real_. 

"Tut, tut, Agatha," a sickly theatrical voice patronizes from behind me. "You knew your choice. No point in regretting it."

The Mage, mystery eyed, sickening me to my stomach, stands at a distance. He speaks as though he's closer, but maybe that's the separation from time and space placements. He looks faulty, not quite there and not quite gone. The body below me draws anger through my veins as sharp as shattered glass.  _Choice_ \- what a joke. What a fucking joke.

"My ' _choice_ ' was made for me!" I sobbed with rage. "You killed me!"

The leaves around us shake and lift around the dying - no, not quite dead yet - body. " _Wrong_ , Miss Wellbelove!" He cackles. " _You_  killed yourself! And for what?  _Love?!_  How can you justify that, when you've just broken her heart! You won't even be around to mend it!  _Pathetic!_ "

My soul feels tight and strangled, because oh  _Merlin_  - what have I done?

"I saved her because she had more to do," I explain. "She was worth more-"

"Oh,  _boohoo!_ " He taunts. My entire body flinches. I get clips and snaps of memories of my mother's scalding bites at me flooding my vision. I see her blood red lips as they curl around her bared teeth, pops of her voice cutting through me again, creating the same wounds as new. I have to shake them away. "You're hopeless! You didn't even consider your own value! No wonder you walked into death."

All too quickly, for some reason, I see staggered flashes of Simon's face. He's snarling, eyes burning, sword by his side. All the times he was about to run straight into battle, Penny trying to pull him back. I see what he sees, all while knowing exactly how his face twitched and pulled in that moment. The way he reasoned with himself, tunneling in on danger and seeing how it could hurt whatever stood behind him. He feels so dissociated, gone already with out taking the hit.

And then, I see Baz.

Baz, however, isn't running anywhere. His eyes are red, empty, staring at a wall that couldn't possibly hold anyone's interest. Yet there's Baz, fixated on it. Like a waning light fixture, it flickers to the catacombs dorm room. In broken instances, Simon is there, pleading for safety. I can somehow see the wall and the dorm, Simon and no Simon, and Baz's distressed and blank face - all at once. In his palm, a flame, begging to catch onto something. In a moment of held breath, I simply see him bring the flame to his chin, hear him gasp-

I flinch.

"Don't you dare think this was suicide," I whisper.

I see Simon -or is it Emily? - holding Baz.

My shoes make no sound at all, falling upon the leaves of another time, another place."I did this only to save Emily and the others."

I see Penny helping Simon limp back to the castle.

"When you're a part of a team, you put them before yourself. You wouldn't know that, though. You saved yourself and didn't care where that left the school. Our  _home_."

The Mage waves it off in dismissal. There aren't anymore images in my brain, although the forest no longer looks like anything but a memory. My head pounds, pulsing down both sides, through the bone and down my neck. There's a terrible glint in my peripheral vision, where I see the Mage's shining metallic suit embellishments, his sickly awful smile directing itself to my dying body. I snarl.

"You're dying, Miss Wellbelove," he speculates. "How sweet! You're still trying your luck at survival. I suppose it's a nice thought, your soul trying to connect to your old life. Sad, mind you. Terribly, awfully..."

Lights and colours flash around me occasionally, but they fizz away moments later. There's an off-putting sense to the anomaly, but I can't be sure that any of this is appearing as it should be. I consider, for a moment, asking the Mage for clarity. A terrible idea, really, but it wouldn't mean a thing if I had followed it through - he's gone. In his wake, glitter.  _Typical._

Only takes a thought -  _is Emily okay?_ \- for the forest to flake away and reconstruct itself as the poster-clad wall in our old dorm. There's no one here, though I hear words float upon the air that sounded like the lilting tone of Emily's voice, conversing with a frantic and sobbing Penny. Their phrases seem to overlap each other. It's like a video playing out of sync. One minute I see them, words not matching their mouths or faces, the next I see Emily yelling, loud and clear:  _We should have done more!_

It rips through reality and spins me into another scene, the same words being repeated in someone else's room, someone else's voice. It's all a sickening blur until I see Baz's strained face leaning over Simon's shaking shoulder, looking pained without tears. There's a blocked conversation that I can't hear as he pulls Simon closer, and lays down with him on the bed.

At once, I see the two pairs. Well, not really. It's more of a visual knowledge. In one eye, I see two broken boys. In the other, my girls. I can't focus on anything with the two images so present. My brain feels about to fold in on itself, unsettling my bones with panic, until all I can do is scream.

And I don't stop.

Helplessly,  I have to stare at my dying self, torn and burnt, as it fights to stay alive. My chest rises and falls in shallow increments and vein under thin flesh lining pulses against all odds. It's when something black and clumpy drools out of my mouth that I ask myself how long it's been. Days? Hours? Why should I care?

A flashing moment passes where I feel cold wash over my back and down my arms. The vines around my body curl at the limbs and pull them down. I feel it. They're cool and deceivingly relaxing, until I'm at a point of collapse. My head spins, breathing feeling as thick and sickly as vomit, and the forest gets hazy and bright. I go into a numb panic, no energy to devote any effort to my fear. Roses bloom over my chest as I'm dragged underground by nature and magic and soft green grass sprouts from the ground, surrounding my body.

 _This is it,_ I whisper miserably into the thin, unreal air. _This is the end._

And then - Baz.

 

×× **×**

 

**Baz**

As soon as I say her name, Agatha is being pulled into the dirt with more vigor than before.  _The forest knows I'm going to take her away_ , I note, taking stock of the ethereal glow in the trees, concentrating in the rose bed upon her chest. It smells of her magic; clean and sweet, soft like strawberry bubblegum.  _It's draining her. It's taking away her divine essence._

It's taking her as sacrifice.

We'd always heard myths and legends about the Wavering Wood. How a brutally powerful mage with god-like potential was buried alive as her punishment for cruel tyranny. We all believed that if you were to get hurt in the Wood and your blood fell to the ground, she would rise and grab your ankles, take you to her tomb of dirt and death, drain you of your magic or blood - it depended on who told the story. Regardless, the legend always said she used it as sacrifice to a higher deity in a plea to make her a goddess. After a few kids went missing in the years before I began attending Watford, our whole year group was convinced the stories were true.

I should know better than to believe in fairy-tales, but I'm also a vampire. It seems redundant to disprove these things.

It's a scramble, but I manage to grab a hold of Agatha's wrist and pull her half out of the dirt. There are shrieks and screams of ghouls with lost throats and maggot-infested mouths, but I ignore them as I tug her above the surface. Vines and flowers that just moments ago looked so beautiful, covering her scarred and broken body, were now growing into her skin and snap over her arms and burst as I break her free of their coils. Just as another snaps from the back of her neck, her eyes flew open. She clings to me harshly, sobs turning to horrified screams and shrieks.

I whisk her out of the last of the earthly grasps and hold her to myself, throwing aside the fact that she's not got any clothes on her. The last tendrils of flower stems and flora break away as her body heals at the speed of magic, though I'm at a loss as to how.

Shedding the thick winter jacket I'm wearing, I try my best to at least  avert my gaze (not difficult) from her bare skin and drape it over her shoulders. It engulfs her tiny body, but provides no comfort to her terror.

"Agatha," I prompt, trying to turn her attention towards me. "Agatha,  _it's okay_."

Okay, yeah - she has 100th degree burns and only has a few patches of hair left on her head, but I was going for more of a ' _You're alive! We thought you were dead!_ ' angle. She calms only slightly.

"There was- th-the." She can't quite finish her thoughts.

"It's over now, yeah? You'll be okay," I tell her, as convincing as possible. "Can I pick you up? Can I take you back to school?"

She almost shrieks as she grabs my collar and shakes it lightly. "Don't let them near me," she pleads. "Simon and Penny. Please, just you. I can't handle- it's too much- oh Crowley,  _Emily_."

I nod.

I nod so fast, I almost convince myself that I'm actually asleep, this is just a terrible, cruel dream. Really, I have no idea how this has happened. We all saw her get swept away in the grip of the Fire elemental, watched as the forest burst into flames and took all the life with it.

Yet here is Agatha, alive, shaking in my arms as I carry her back to the dorm in the Catacombs.

I don't quite understand what she's trying to achieve by hiding from the others, but then again maybe she doesn't know either. There's so much scarring around her head and neck, I worry that she's damaged internally, too. The rule, however, restricts me from asking for someone's second opinion.

When she's wearing my jacket, it hangs loosely from her frame and slides down her shoulders, even when zipped up. Still, the hem of it drops a little way down her thigh, and that seems to be comfortable enough for us (trust me - I have no desire to see naked girls). I check as we walk anyway, wary of the fact that we're close to school and could run into anyone at this point. Agatha assures me that it's fine, but her response is still laced with panic and comatose. I can only trust her words so much right now.

I all but sprint into the dorm when we get there, chanting apologies like spells to a very shocked and open-wounded Agatha. One blister on her back seems to have burst, and I curse myself for using so much magic to fix the forest. The door knocks back against the wall as I kick through to enter. Agatha is immediately put to bed.

"I only have so much magic," I tell her miserably. " _Crowley_  - how are you alive?"

"I wouldn't be," she chokes, grabbing at the glass and pitcher of water on the accent table and taking desperate, messy gulps. I sit adjacent on the bed, my hand over her arm. "I would have passed through the Veil eventually if no one had come and got me. The only reason I'm conscious is because the forest gave me your spell."

The wind is knocked from my lungs.  _What?_

"How do you know?" I ask, hollow and shaken.

She takes no notice of my tone and shudders in pain. My wand sits idly by - almost useless.  _Almost_.

"I wasn't supposed to wake up. As soon as I was taken by the Fire, the realms seemed to warp a bit, just like they did before the Fire elemental showed up."

I blink twice and wait for explanation. There isn't any. Agatha's eyes don't seem to stay open without brute force, though. I can't make her explain it now, that'd be cruel.

Instead, I pick up my wand.

" ** _Time heals all wounds!_** " I cast, the little magic I have left swirling over her open skin and blisters. A few heal to scars right away, but others have to repaired from the inside out. Agatha is already too fast asleep to notice.

"I'll fix this, Puff," I tell her, and smile at the appropriate name. "But I'm sorry, in advance."

 

×××

 

Penny does not look amused as I explain to her what's happened.

She looks about ready to commit murder.

"You're telling me-" she huffs, "-that there are  _two people_  in the dining hall who are suffering a great and personal loss, mourning a person who is alive?"

I raise an eyebrow. "It's not exactly anyone's fault, Bunce."

"And  _you_ told  _me?!_ "

Ah.

"Look, I'm not even supposed to tell  _you_ ," I explain. "She told me to keep it secret."

Penny isn't buying any of this. "Why? Why wouldn't she want us to know?"

"She just died! She's probably feeling a bit claustrophobic!" I explain harshly, before resigning to a more somber posture. "And... I don't think she's convinced that she's going to live much longer. Simon and Emily can't handle having the floor being ripped out from under them, but you're not like that, Penelope. You take every knock with logic and ration."

"Is that just a convoluted way of saying I'm more emotionally stable than the others?"

"Yes."

That settles her a little bit, but her eyes are still glossy at the news. Agatha is going to  _hurt_  me when she finds out I've told Penny, but this hurts anyway.

"Take me to her."

 

×××

 

Agatha is still asleep.

Penny gasps softly at the burns over her face and necks, the blistering scars that line her muscles and veins. She approaches the bed as though Agatha is a stunned cat, so close to us, yet so close to disappearing.

I don't even have to ask Penny to do any spells before she's lashing out all the magic she can. She closes wounds, stops pain, and heals scars as best she can, but there will always be marks and damage. She even casts  _ **Good as new**_  to help her skin and hair begin their regeneration. It drains her a bit too much but she doesn't relent until I snatch her hand and beg her to ' _stop it, you're hurting yourself! Bunce, stop!_ '

She falters and jerks in on herself as my words get through to her. My arms go to hold her, a response I'm not proud to say is a reflex. Hysteria simmers under her sobs, her body quivering under my soft hold.

"Bunce, come on," I urge her quietly. "You did it. She's healing. Sit down for a bit."

She barely reacts to anything I'm saying, only sitting on the edge of the other bed when I pull her away from Agatha's side. "She was gone. She-"

"I don't know what's going on either. We'll figure it out, okay? Agatha will come around, help us out, and we'll be hunting the last Elemental before the Mage can use whatever power he stolen to hurt anyone else."

Bullet-pointing it out like this makes one forget about the fact that death, apparently, has no place in our story. Agatha lays still and limp, her chest heaving breaths with little labour compared to before. Penny gazes at Agatha as though she's cataloging the scars and burns with critical analysis. In less than a moment, magic hangs in the air in front of us, silver letters spelling out  _What we know,_ and another column that confuses me slightly:  _Why?_

"You have an idea?" I ask.

Bunce stands and writes out a list a list underneath the first heading:  
-  _Agatha was dead_  
 _\- Agatha is no longer dead_  
 _\- She burned, but not completely._

"She's still in one piece," Bunce explains. "Considering what she went through, that's  _quite_  an achievement. Something tells me she was already resistant."

My mind goes back to the meals we had as a group - Agatha had sipped tea incessantly with the steam pouring out onto her face, no reaction to the heat that had deterred the rest of us. Even the molten centers of freshly baked scones and muffins, where we all left them split open on our plates lathered in butter, she ate them scolding and dry.

(At first I claimed she was just barbaric - scones with out butter? - but now...)

"She's Gifted," I note, right as Penny writes it out in the column.

The glittering scarlet that surrounds the silver words falls to the floor. Behind the lists, Agatha stirs in her slumber.

Agatha Wellbelove. Fireproof.

Un-fucking-believable.


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk how i feel about the pace of it atm? honestly it's a miracle i'm updating so quickly, i'll take whatever victories i can get
> 
> also im not entirely sure about how i've written emily's adhd (sorta why im exploring diverse characters in fanfiction as opposed to actual original writing so far) so feel free to drag me/tell me what i can/should/shouldn't do if you notice anything. i dont want to rely too much on the research of others tbh, but im realising now that a lot of the reading i did was very clinical as opposed to social impact and individual experience. so! i will be looking into it within the next few chapters and will hopefully have a better picture of it than what i have now. really sorry if i'e done anything wrong btw and again! feel free to go to town in the comments at me

**Simon**

I wake, disappointingly, without Baz. It's not like I expected him to stay - I'm not even sure that I wanted him to, but there was still a jolt of surprise when I found myself in his bed. Alone.

I've opted for enjoying Baz's company and comfort without thinking about it too much, because I genuinely don't know what's going on or where we stand. I barely trust that he knows what he;s doing and the implications of it. Sure, he's Baz; always in control, but this past week has been uncharacteristically warm between us (vampire jokes aside). It concerns me to think that this is all a result of Baz having his privacy breached, and that maybe it's not so much an offer of truce, but an apology. 

The thought makes me feel some kind of gross rolling on my stomach.

Only Emily is at breakfast. There's stagnant conversation that we repeat everyday now, but today just seems to be worse.

"How are you?" She asks.

I don't quite respond. I shrug and glance at her once, but ultimately my words are gone. My voice has abandoned me in favour of being somewhere safer - because really, is it an option to tell people (no less, a girl whose closer to a stranger than a friend) how vulnerable I am? I tend to spend the days now in an even mix of oversharing and regretting how comfortable I've become. Those moods are troubled waters without a third of my most trusted friends.

(Then again, maybe I should revise that number...)

After an hour of near silent commiserating with Emily, we note the mysterious disappearance of our dear best friends and set off to find them. Emily doesn't babble the way she did before, but I have to remind her of where we're going sometimes (and even  _why_  are we looking).

At first it almost frustrates me, having to repeat myself over and over,  but then I remember how Penny must feel every time we study together, and I shut right up.

Emily notices.

"It's the ADHD," she tells me. "Makes me forget things easily. Sorry."

She's lost her trademark sparky energy. I see it in the way she walks - it has no bounce or skip. I start to wonder just how happy she really was before, and how much of it was just a mask to hide what was really going on in her brain.

"Don't apologise," I tell her. "You can't help it."

"Baz finds it a right nuisance sometimes. You're allowed to get a bit frustrated with me."

I mull this over quietly as we cross the Great Lawn (which, I've been thinking, isn't all that great) and approach the Tower. Our hypothesis is that Penny and Baz are drowning their sorrows in a myriad of notes, books, and research. Hopefully, they're close by at least. It's getting uncomfortable not knowing what our next move is.

I'm still thinking about Emily's memory though. It seems to hinder her far more than she allows people to see - bubbly attitude, good grades, maybe a hint of innocence to cover it all up - so I think to myself: WWPBD - what would Penelope Bunce do?

A pen in my pocket gives me a short-term solution, reaching back into my bag for a notebook. Emily stops to observe me, none the wiser to my writing. A moment or two later, I hand her a page.

_Where - The Mage's Tower._

_What - Finding Penny and Baz._

_Why - Need to talk strategy. Need to see them._

She eyes it quizzically.

"It doesn't frustrate me, but I figured maybe if you had a hard copy of what we're doing, it'd help."

"Help what?"

"I don't know.  _Help_."

It's when she smiles and relief washes through me that I realise how anxious I was, afraid of offending her. "It's not the most dignifying idea-"

"Shit, yeah, sorry-"

"-but thank you for trying. Not many people try to understand."

We smile at each other, a moment of relief from our grievances, and continue on to the Tower.

 

×××

 

Penny and Baz are not in the Tower.

Nor are they in they Dining Hall, the Library, or any of our dorms. The hallways are far more baron with the absence of just two (technically three) people. We relax on one of the benches outside the library, having not spoken in a considerable amount of time. Emily swings her legs. Things start to feel a little bit normal again.

"The forest is alive again," she tells me. She's right. Not a clump of ash is in sight. "How do you reckon that happened?"

I shrug. "Magic," I answer. "Must be. I still don't understand it."

We both accept that guess and settle back against the wall again. For once, the silence is a itching discomfort, tensing my neck and shoulders. Thankfully, Emily has plenty to say.

"Be gentle with Baz."

Never mind. I prefer the silence.

"Snow, I know it's not an easy subject, but it's there," she goes on. Softly. She's always speaking softly about Baz. "He's upset. He won't tell me so easily, but I know it's tearing him apart."

 _Burning him alive_.

"Yeah," I respond. "I know. We talked for a while this morning. Sort of. We talked past it." I don't tell her about last night - it still doesn't feel like it really happened.

That seems to suffice for now, but I won't lie in saying that I'll drop the subject with Baz. I saw him, how broken he was. Nothing is his anymore. All the secrets he kept, shared out to us all against his will. I don't think I've appreciated his sacrifice enough - we could have  _died_.

"Listen, I know how hard this is for him, and I also appreciate the privilege I have in choosing to put it off, but Baz is... I won't hurt him. He's important to me, in this odd kind of way."

A difficult tug strains my words. I don't know why. Nothing I said was all too secretive.

Then again, it wasn't exactly easy to admit.

"You'll do your best," Emily concludes. "I'm trusting you with him, Simon Snow. He's everything to me."

 

×××

 

Baz hasn't returned to the dorm for a while, so I take a longer shower than usual. I don't cry. The more the water runs over my neck and shoulders, the more numb I feel. No matter the heat, the force of the water, I don't feel it. I don't feel anything apart from dull aches all over my body. The steam draws a soft perfume from Baz's soap and reminds me of the night before.

Everything Emily said...it's starting to sound like she's given me her blessing.

We chose not to check the Catacombs for them - not yet, anyway. Chances are, they're dealing with Agatha's death in the logical-rational-statistics way, as opposed to crying-rambling-shaking way. Neither Emily or I want to see those kind of robotics.

I rub off all these stray, miscellaneous thoughts with the super-anti-bacterial, burn-off-layers-of-skin soap, but I feel no cleaner. The steam smells like rancid perfume and is quickly going to my head. I cut the water off and very nearly throw up as I stumble out. It's too rich. Too sickly. There are just some things that don't go together so well.

Baz is sitting on his bed when I get out of the bathroom. We share a bored glance.

"Where've you been?" I ask.

"Consoling Bunce," he answers. "Having Bunce console me. People with little emotional range tend to grieve similarly."

I only offer a raise of my eyebrows and settle onto my bed. He's acting sketchy about something. The open window soothes the queasiness in my stomach and head. Fresh air gushes in softly through the trees, the smell calming me slightly. It doesn't feel numb, but it certainly doesn't feel like I'm all that alive either. Ironic, maybe.

"Hey, look," Baz attempts, sounding like he'd rather be skinning a dragon than speaking to me, "if you want to stay here and, I don't know, weep for a while, I'm willing to get you some food, or..."

"No."

"No  _thank you_. Bastard."

"Don't leave."

It's not fair, I guess, to say things like this without knowing exactly how I feel. All I know is that I don't want to be alone. I don't want to speak, but I don't want to be alone. I hope Baz knows this.

I hope I'm not getting this wrong.

 

×××

 

**Baz**

I intended to sneak into our room undetected, pretend to nap until I figured out what the Hell to do about Agatha. At first, I thought it would be easy to keep Snow at arm's length (at  _least_ ) about this, but I just had to walk through that door and see that damn pout on his face.

Simon doesn't want me to leave, so I don't.

He says it unkindly, though. He says it with sour grief, as though he expects that I'll leave him to be alone. I don't know why, but there's this disgusting roll of discomfort over my chest when he says it. I hate him, sometimes. Genuinely. I wish I could forget I ever loved him.

"I'm not going to leave you alone, git," I sneer. Honestly, I'm doing my best to channel my old self, let the history of my bitter cold-heart overtake me, but I keep remembering how warm I felt just that morning, waking up next to him. "Crowley - do you genuinely think I'm heartless? Is anything going to be enough for you to give me  _little_ bit of human-credit?"

Simon opens his eyes and glares down at me. "So, we're allowed to talk about it?" 'It' being that one time I confessed my love for him in the heart of a giant fucking tree. "Maybe you should set out a schedule for when you decide you'll be soft enough to regard  _anything_  that's going on."

Honestly, no; I don't want to talk about it. What I  _want_  to talk about is the fact that Agatha is alive and barely conscious down in the Catacombs. I want to tell him to ditch his dismay, because there's no more reason to be so broken. His misery has no substance anymore. But I can't.

Bound by my word. Fucking cursed.

"Look, I'm sick of this tossing and turning with you," Simon snaps. "Do you want to be civil, or not? Because I do. Honestly - Emily wants me to be gentle with you, but I can't try if you won't. I understand that you're upset, and you have every right to be - stop hitting me about it though."

I sigh. He has a point.

"It's not that I don't care that you like me, Baz," he goes on, dense as ever. "It's just that I can't think about it right now. We'll talk about it, I promise. Just -  _later_."

He gives me a long glare. I try not to focus on the sickly sweet smoke (like burning sugar and misery) that's flooding the room. His eyes soften with his own sigh, and he lets his head fall against the pillow, fitfully. Seeing as he's made his point (his very true, almost irrefutable point) clear to me, I feel like a dick, just being in the room. I can't tell if this is a warning in sheep's clothing (get lost, stay away from me, heartless git) or if it's an olive branch disguised as a hyper-aggressive rant. Either way, I have to say  _something_. Crowley - I hate it when he makes me look bad.

"I'm sorry," I say, intending for the other words to just  _happen_ , but they don't. I know what I need to say. I know what I can't say. Merlin's beard - all the things I  _want_ to say.

So I choose indulgence, for the umpteenth time since this all started.

"You're right," I admit. Simon opens his eyes owlishly. "This is upsetting and I'm taking that out on you. I don't mean to. I..."

I stare at him. Selfishly. Taking in his face like it's the last thing I'll see.

I hope it's the last thing I see, one day.

"I'll try harder," I promise.

Simon holds a gaze with me, makes an obvious effort to smile, and says: "No you won't. Bastard."

"Okay, I may not  _succeed_ -" And Simon laughs.  _Actually_ laughs. "-but at least I'll try. Effort over result."

"Ah, my motto in life."

This feels nice. Us, speaking. The way he seems to have forgotten that we ever argued just moments ago. When I make him laugh, it feels like sunlight on my skin. (Pity I'm a vampire, I guess. He might end up burning me alive.) When he draws a smile from me, even against every wall I've built against him, it still feels like I'm full of burning forests and injections of magic - something so lethal, yet  _so, so_ good.

It's beginning to seem like all the best things in life, kill us in the end. I guess we'll only know if we die trying.


	21. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont u love,, inconsistancy

**Baz**

This is when Bunce has both a wonderful discovery, and a terrible idea.

"There's been more tidal activity around all of Britain," she states. We're all curled up on mine and Simon's beds with cups of tea and a platter of baked good floating between us. "Tides are fluctuating abnormally. Loads of sea life is being hit hard, but the magickal society is still trying to come up with a way to stabilise it. Plus, there's been a significant increase in rainfall in the midlands."

I glance over hers and Simon's heads to the murky grey clouds outside with a grimace. This is hitting faster than the others did. Emily, lying comfortable over my chest in blanket cocoon, follows my gaze and considers what we know to be facts.

"But we haven't found the water Elemental yet," she points out. "The Mage is getting stronger if he doesn't need to pawn us around looking for fucking  _marbles_."

She sips her tea contentedly, relaxing back onto me. Emily's rage is always a short lived sensation, always inspiring. After all of this drama with Agatha, it feels nice to hear something familiar in her tone.

Penny idly traces the lumps and divots of one of the old journals. "I don't think we're safe at Watford anymore," she drops.

We all stare.

"If we're here when the Mage decides to have some fun with the moat or the rain, Watford could flood," she goes on. "Then what? We're compromised. All of our books are gone. Our work and our opportunities all get washed away. We should run."

Even Simon looks a bit heartbroken at that. Emily curls up more. I, however, am shocked and concerned at this development. Not all of our teammates are here to object to such a plan.

Agatha, burnt but healing down in the Catacombs, is in no position to be running anywhere. She's still unconscious downstairs, accompanied by only a jug of water and a note of absence. Despite such provisions, leaving her down there alone seems too careless. Penny knows this. I know this.

The issue here: neither Simon or Emily know this.

"Ah, well," I stammer, possibly the first time I ever have. Simon slides his confused gaze to me. "You make a good point. Our resources are here.  _Everything_ is here."

Penny looks to me sharply. We don't even have to speak to argue. She's standing for her point of safety and longevity, our success in our mission. I'm standing for the promise we made to Agatha - the one that I desperately want to break when I see Simon at his six-year worst, or when Emily ( _Crowley_ , my dear Emily) cries and hugs me with her nose tucked into my neck. Mourning someone who still lives - its wrong to let it happen.

"We should go,  _Basilton_ ," she chides. "We have to stay on top of the situation."

"The situation is here,  _Penelope_ ," I say with mockery, even though I know she's right. "I think we should wait a while longer before we go combating anymore demons."

I am getting so sick of thinking about these damn Elementals.

Penny and I stare each other down over the divide between the two beds. The worst part about Bunce being in a higher morale than me, is that I'm all too aware of the two people I love the most being hurt. By  _me_  no less. Bloody Penelope Bunce - out of the two of us, I may be top of our year, but she's by far the more intelligent. Who am I anymore? What have I become?

Simple minded, I supposed. An echo of everything I work to be. And for what? There isn't a single person, alive or dead, telling me to be more than I already am. No one, at least, that I'm still willing to take opinion from.

Snow shifts gaze, his eyes tracking over the room to land on Penny. "Am I missing something?"

Merlin on a fucking wheel, I want to tell him everything. Not just Agatha. Not just her Gift. I want to explain to him how sorry I am that - even after I vowed my honesty and kindness - I would keep this from him. I would burden him with my feelings and suffocate his judgement. Every time I try to get better, it seems I make it worse. Corner after corner, I'm pushed back. My repayment for not dying the first time.

This is how it gets so dark in my mind. This is how I feel there's now way out. There may be a solution - I know this, I do - but if it hurts Simon, it isn't worth it.

So I reply with 'No', the same time Penny says 'Yes'.

"Just tell them, Baz," she insists. Emily tenses and lifts away from my chest. "They already know something's up."

Emily turns to me, barely aware of herself. She only whispers, "Baz?"

Curse Bunce. Curse her to every Hell. I can feel Emily's trust waning, her hands pushing me away until she's hides away to the other end of my bed. The look I give Penny... I hope she knows. I hope she realises what she's doing.

"Drop it, Bunce," I warn.

Simon is notably quiet.

"Baz, you wouldn't..." Emily tries. The rest of her words don't seem to stick to their guns. "I mean, if it were important..."

I can only lie so much. When I have no honest response, my face barely trying to make a farce of this.

Emily shakes her head. "No, but....Baz.  _Baz_. Just tell me."

But I've had enough. After everything I've done, given up and suffered through, my own anguish being a requiem to my former morals and boundaries, I refuse to be a villain once again - to  _Emily_  of all people. Especially not for keeping my word.

I think of the options I had, and I know that I may have chosen wrong. But I also think of Agatha, awaking to a frantic rush of worry and tears. She'd be upset, overwhelmed - she may not be able to cope. And Emily would be twice as heartbroken, then; realising that she'd harmed the girl of her dreams. And bloody Simon Snow would give some deprecating speech about how it was all his fault, and we'd all try our best to pluck him up, to no avail. Is that really worse than letting two people mourn, though?

Because apparently Agatha's request, at the hand of her well-being, isn't a good enough reason on its own.

"Okay, you know what?" I declare. It pains me to shuck off the Emily's concern, but I make a point of doing it anyway. Apparently, I can't seem to help myself when it comes to being terrible. "Fuck this. Tell them if you like. I know it's the kind option, Bunce, because alleviating the pain of two is better than just one, but for fuck's sake; this isn't about numbers. She asked one favour of me -  _just_ one, and I broke that once.  _For you_. I should have known better, really, because you lot didn't give more than half a damn about her before and she was already suffering. If you think I'm letting you fuck her over like you used to...that says something about you, Bunce. But I'm a man of my word."

"Running away from this doesn't make you a man of your word. It makes you a coward. Tell them or I will."

Snow still won't say anything. Emily has gone silent, too. I thought, maybe, without them all pushing a prodding me to tell them all what I'm keeping from them, I'd feel more valid in my resistance.

But the way they look at me...

"Go ahead," I challenge, leaving one last gaze to Emily (a hurt, betrayed Emily) and walk out the door.

×××

I sit beside Agatha's bed, contemplating exactly what damage I've just done. There's a large part of me that wants to run back up there and wipe all of their memories (why didn't I think of that before?), hold Emily close and have everything feel painfully normal for a few minutes.

She almost looks like herself again. Given, her hair has faded into an ashy grey, and the scars that dig into her skin are healing to make her look beyond her years, there is still nothing about Agatha that looks anything but beautiful. Everything that was ever quintessential for Agatha Wellbelove was in the person she gave to others. Seeing as she only ever gave me a look or two, maybe a few concerns, I feel like the person I see before me is the most honest image of her I've ever met.

After a while of feeling sorry for myself, I pull out a cigarette and leave the room. With the air so cool and damp, the feeling of smoke in my breath feels electric and all the more poisonous - almost wrong. The catacombs stay quiet and peaceful, only growing more so with every burning drag. My overdue dose of self destruction.

About halfway to the stub of my first stick, I hear slow footsteps approaching past my mother's grave. At first sight of Snow, I drop the cigarette and step it out with heel of my shoe.

"Don't stop on my account," he tells me, not quite looking at me.

"Secondhand smoke is lethal," I tell him. "If I'm going to ruin my health, I'm not going to take you with me."

Nicotine still ever present in my body, I can't feel the tension that plagues this places now. Snow just stares, tapping his thigh, looking angry. I release the last huff of my smoke, the mere knowledge that I've run out bringing an ache. With Snow still standing there, nothing better to do but brood, I'm all too quickly reminded of the mistake I've made.

The mistake I haven't made.

"Penny told us," he whispers. "You weren't even in the room and you  _still_ made me feel like I was an idiot. I felt like I had missed something that was so simple, and so abundantly clear to everyone. I felt so stupid. But you..." He takes a shaken breath. It's hard to listen to it. "You saw me mourn, and you kept lying. It's not fair of you, Baz. I thought-"

"Don't carry on speaking if you assume I did this out of malicious intent."

He stops. Completely.

"Snow, I went out to the forest to go and repair it. I'm used to bringing flowers and plants back to life, so I thought I may as well try. I was upset and I had spent a night just trying to sleep with you on my arm-" I have to stop. Something feels too personal there.

"This was after...that night?" He asks. It hadn't occurred to me that he might think I used his vulnerability that night. Guilt unfurls in my chest, choking my breath.

I nod. "I never meant to keep it from you, okay? The first thing I wanted to do was tell you all and let everything get better, but she asked me not to. She begged me, you didn't see it. I made a promise."

"Which you broke," Snow snaps. "You told Penny."

"I couldn't help her, Snow. My magic was drained, I had to get someone. Bunce is the greatest mage I know of. Why don't you understand this?"

Snow just sneers at me. "I never said I didn't. Why are  _you_  so bound by a fucking promise-?"

"My word is all I  _fucking have_ , Snow!" I yell. A small group of ravens take flight in fear. "I never cared about the bullshit I had as a kid, because any fucker could get that. My word. My  _honesty._ That was mine, and I will  _not_ be ashamed for keeping that in tact. Agatha asked me for protection - I do not  _care_ how delirious she was. She was scared. I did my part. I asked for help when it was needed. Anyone else would call that a learning curve."

Snow gapes, brows still pulled. Anxiety begins to rise in my chest and throat, right where my words scraped their way out. Looking at him, at how hurt he is, I know just how much I'm losing. Emily, Snow, Bunce... Crowley, maybe even Agatha if she wakes up, forgetting everything she told me.

My hands begin to shake slightly, but it's easy to push away. "I know how this affects you, Snow. I'm sorry. I'm  _sorry._ Believe that much."

I don't quite know what my voice sounds like, but I assume it must be pretty pathetic because Snow has softened almost completely. He looks as sorry as I feel, but that does nothing to comfort me. I wish he'd just let me have it; scream, hit me, the lot. I wish I wasn't the only one making myself feel like shit.

"You were just doing what you felt was loyal," he realises.  _Finally_. "I...I get it."

"Do you?" I snap. "Or do you just want this to all blow over so you don't have to think about it?"

He steps forward, hands in fists by his sides. " _Both_."

This argument is getting to be one sided. Every flaw I find in my own plan for self-preservation is just another nail in my coffin. He says he gets it. He says he understands why I did it. That doesn't mean he forgives me and that doesn't make it okay.

"What about Emily?" I ask, unashamedly upset and desperate.

Snow doesn't look at me. "She's not...not great."

That breaks me heart a bit. I take a heaving breath and cover my mouth to stop myself from doing something completely humiliating. "Does she hate me?"

(So, only a little bit humiliating.)

Snow looks down at the ground. He doesn't need to answer. I already know she hates what I've done, but Emily isn't one to let go so early. She won't let her anger die out with rationality or consideration. There have been times before this where she did just what I expect; held onto betrayal and anger and consumed it like it was nothing but air, and she told me why; she's sick of being left behind, called out and hurt by people who can apologise with a sob story and get away with it all. I told her I would never do something to let her down.

I suppose my word isn't so trustworthy after all.

All I seem to do is lose.

"Baz, please don't be upset," Simon whispers, close enough to me now that I can feel his hands hovering above my arms. "You made a mistake, it's not the end of the world."

"It may as well be."

" _Baz_." He gingerly places a hand on my arm. I almost enjoy it. All too quickly, I feel him retract and fold his arms over his chest. "Sorry, look - can we go somewhere that isn't fucking freezing? I'd love to keep chatting but I am  _so_ cold."

My hands rub over my face. "Can you stop acting like nothing is wrong?"

He shivers once. "Yeah, yeah, okay - when I'm not freezing my balls off."

With a roll of my eyes and an aimless snarl, I pull out my wand and unlock the door to Agatha's resting place. Snow just gapes, apparently far too frozen to take a hint. He looks back and forth between the door and I, unjustly dumbfounded.

"In there...?" He asks.

"You may as well go see her. Fuck if I'm supposed to care."

Simon grimaces a little, one hand on the door. I reach for another cigarette and sigh as I go to light it, like a sleight of hand trick for a Normal child's birthday do. The cigarette is between my lips and close to flame when I feel Simon touch my wrist so gently it warms me more than the fire above my fingertip.

"Come in with me," he requests. "Please?"

I regard him with a bored anger that only half explains my anguish. "You trying to save my lungs?"

"Mine, actually."

I could smile at that, if I weren't an anxious miserable mess. Instead, I roll my eyes and put the flame out, the cigarette staying between my lips. "I'm keeping this," I tell him, talking around the stick.

"Whatever you want, Augustus Waters."

If I wasn't in deep before, I am now.


	22. 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is ur chapterly apology for the wait im sorryyyyyyyy

**Baz**

I walk in behind him, focussing way too intently on the shift of his muscles in his neck as he looks over the room. He stops when Agatha comes into view, her quiet sighs being the only sound crowding the room. His hands lift from his sides as a shaking breath escapes him. I move only slightly forward, feeling embarrased and regretful when I see him so upset.

"Did you feel like this?" He asks, trying hard to smile. "Feel like it was so obvious, because it never felt like she was gone. I mean, there she is. I know I said it was fine, but Baz - what the fuck?"

He's crying. I can't think. I should hug him, or something. Fix this. But I can't over step this boundary with Simon.

Does he still care about that?

He looks at me so miserably, smile still present and wavering. Arms wrapped around himself, shaking and pouting with a mess of tears over his cheeks. My heart breaks, but I don't let it show. Instead, I say: "Yeah, I did. Do you need anything?"

"Just stay."

"Simon-"

" _Baz_ ," he sobs.

So for all of my nobility, I don't look at my hugging him as selfish. This time, I see it for what it is - _help_. I move around him slowly, rigid, willing to let him step away at any point. Instead, though, he leans into me before I even try to wrap him up in my arms. He's crying less now, but I hold him just the same, aware of the way my hands fidget as balance on the blade of comfort and indulgence. Simon doesn't seem too worried. In fact, he seems to _enjoy_ it.

Or maybe I should stop that thought while I'm ahead.

"I'm sorry," I tell him again. Nothing more. I stand by what I did, but to see him so upset...of course I'm sorry.

We sit on the bed opposite to Agatha, my thigh pressed against his - a contact I am far too aware of. His hands are on his knees and mine are pressed into the bed behind us. Still, he leans into my shoulder and breathes obnoxiously deep. I feel every inhale. It's a bit disturbing.

"I know this is difficult," he tells me. "The whole... _us,_ thing. I wish it was different."

My head rolls back on my shoulders with a sigh. "Oh, trust me - I do, too."

"The timing is...abysmal."

"I'm surpised you knew that was a word."

"Shut up."

His tone isn't sharp, like usual. When I look back at him, he's staring up at me with those boring blue eyes, waiting for something.

"You don't mean half of the things you say," he tells me, quietly. The way his voice scrapes out of his torn throat is _something else_.

"Really?" I ask. I think he's flirting. I think I'm flirting back. Is this flirting?

Whatever it is, it's awkward and I never want it to end.

Except it does end. One hand has lifted from his knee and touches my jaw. Even more exciting, I've found myself impossibly close to him, with no memory of ever moving. I want to close my eyes. I think I _should_ close my eyes. I don't want to seem eager, though (I don't want to stop looking at him).

This is all happening incredibly slowly. Or maybe it just feels slow - I wonder if he feels it, too? We're staring at each other, so close, hands on jaws and sides. He nudges my nose with his, and I almost laugh (how _ridiculous_ is that?). When I'm not thinking, or maybe thinking too much, he leans in and closes his eyes -

Our lips actually touch, yes, but for only a fragment of a second in jaunty brush, interrupted by one Penelope Bunce running through the door in a frantic state. Simon and I stand as she comes in, all prospects of kissing abondoned, just like that. Even so, Bunce eyes our proximity for a fraction before she dismisses it.

"There you are!" She cries. "Oh my- we need to go. Right now."

Bunce has this way of giving instructions that I admire. It pulls you in and demands attention. Her presence is more than anyone's when she's leading a group into the heart of war. Unbelievably brilliant, even if I'm inclined to hate it (my male privilege, clearly).

"What do you mean?" Simon asks her.

"Where's Emily?" I ask just as quickly.

Bunce casts another aggressive protection spell over Agatha. "The Mage, he's here. Emily is outside. He's looking for Agatha."

I push away from Simon before Bunce is finished speaking and leave the room. Sure enough, Emily is out there, but she pays an alarmingly lack of attention to me. Her wand is out, arm extended, shaking.

And at the end of her apparatis - the Mage.

 ** _"Away with you!"_** I command with a swipe of magic. The Mage stumbles back, but his resistance is stronger than I expect.

"Push him back a bit more!" Emily yells, running up behind me.

"With what spell?!"

" _You have arms._ "

Point. I put my wand back and bare my fangs (for show, of course). He only grins - a bit intimidating to know he's finding joy in fighting with me. When I throw my first punch, he doesn't even try to dodge it.

Emily casts _**"Hold it right there!"**_ and the Mage is frozen. He stares blankly at me, mania in his eyes as I push him back again. There's someyhing awfully therapeutic about hurting him. _This is what you deserve,_ I think. _This is for everything you've done. My mother, Agatha, Simon - everyone you've hurt._

"Oh, _Basilton_ ," he gushes, a theatric melody to his voice. "You are a hero, aren't you? All grown up with your head on straight. _Well_..."

I could have killed him for that. Emily looks about ready to make a weapon of her wand.

"Think you're funny, mate?" I press, pushing him into the ground.

"What would Simon say?" He asks, as though he never heard me. "Thought he'd converted you, made you kind hearted - but here you are, trying to kill his mentor. So sad, isn't it Tyrannus? That no matter what you do, you'll always be a monster."

There's that word again. I drop him into the rising water, hands weak. Is it true? Is this all I'll be? To think, Simon was going to _kiss_ me. Yet here I am, destroying the one person who brought him to Watford, the one who care about him.

 _You cared about him_.

That doesn't matter right now.

"Baz, ignore him," Emily urges. "Baz, _come on_."

"No, but he's..." My voice is quiet and sullen. It feels like some kind of magic, but I know it isn't. It's just true.

"Baz," Simon beckons, a gentle hand on my shoulder. I'm not even sure it's really him, just an imagined warmth over my skin and his voice from the dormant part of my subconscience that tells me _it's okay, it's not your fault, you're not a monster_.

No, there's no hope for my brain to be fixed right now - Simon is just standing behind me, drawing me back. I press back into his touch and give a single flick of my wand and mutter some spell that expelled the Mage from Watford. I'm dissociating far too much to pay any attention to what I just said. Maybe it wasn't even me. I can't say. All I'm aware of at the moment os how cold I feel, and the hand on my back that is warm, warm, warm.

I step back, keenly dodging both Simon and Emily, but too uncoordinated to miss Penny. She holds my arm and keeps me from running off with an almost spellbound grip. Emily looks at me for a second but the fondness is bitter. I don't move. I _can't_ move. There's nothing I can do except feel the thick air moving around me, notice the rain beyond the catacombs and feel the rising water creep through my socks and run across my ankles. They all fight and argue, and I just watch.

It sounds far more dramatic than it feels, really. Nothing is silent. In fact, on top of rain and wind, there's all of their conflict and yelling. It just _feels_ silent. Spacey. I don't exist in that moment to be Baz. I'm just there. Watching. Wildly insignificant.

"Baz," Penny beckons, jostling my arm. "Come on, we're leaving."

"But, Agatha-"

"Oh, so you speak about her now?" Emily accuses. "Of fucking course."

Dissociation aside, that comment upsets me. I give Emily an excuse; she can be mad, I was a dick, I deserve that. We stare at each other, ignoring the chatising Emily is getting from Simon, trying to negotiate a silent agreement. I have to remind myself that she's still in misery over Agatha. I deserve this, I deserve this, _I deserve this_.

"We have to go!" Simon roars over storm and flood. He grabs my hand and pulls me with him in haste to the door to Agatha. I shake myself out of whatever shackles my mind had trapped me in and pulled at the door once, twice. No budge.

I rattle it. "What?"

Simon retreats to let Emily through. She lashes out unlocking spells in English and Spanish. I try again, but the magic hasn't done a thing to help. She gives me a look, no trace of spite, then sloshes back in the water and kicks at the door hard. It all but bounces back into place: a spell stronger than average magic.

"Em, step back," I call.

"Baz, what-"

"Step _back!_ "

She does so, giving me room to run and ram into the wood. It cracks for a moment. The next, it's whole.

"This isn't magic!" Emily yells. " _Agatha!_ "

The water is rising too quickly, billowing down through the door and staircase, I see Simon and Penny working to shut the door to no avail. They yell and scream to leave, but this is _wrong_. Before, Agatha died because we couldn't save her. Now, we _have_ to.

"Baz, we can't!" Emily pleads. "Please!"

"Em, I'm sorry, I can't move the door!"

"Try _harder!_ " She keeps tugging at the handle and trying to kick to wood to splinters. " _Agatha!_ "

Her words are warbled but the murky water that sloshes over her face and heaves over her head. I grab her arm to keep her afloat. She tries to fight it, battering at the door still, but I pull her off of the handle and swim her to the steps. The shit she yells at me isn't half as painful as the feeling of her trying to get away from me. She'd rather dive head-first into danger and death. There's something terribly romantic about it, but it's hard to see past the iminent doom that's still flooding the catacombs.

Simon grabs my arm and pulls us to the staircase. Emily is beginning to see more than just Agatha's fate, and now breaks away from me to run to Penny. I note their relationship for a later time of investigation, though I'm not sure if Emily will tell me anything. Ever.

Don't even get me started on how my brain went from calm and fine to worst case scenario that fast. It's complicated and long-winded and just a _fucking pain_ to deal with.

"Are you okay?" Simon asks me, breathless.

I respond by nodding, quietly coughing up the water in my lungs.

And he, the light of my current life, still manages a smile, a hot hand on my shoulder. He breathes laughter, despite his misery, eyes darting over to Agatha's door. I can hardly miss it, his faded smile overtaken by shock.

Emily falls against the door and slides outside to the rain, shin deep in a dirty puddle. I come up behind her, but what do I say? ' _I'm sorry, I just let the love of your life die a morbid, watery death_ '? Somehow, I don't think that would smooth over all the holes I've punctured in our friendship. Because Emily sobs like she's choking, like she can barely breathe. She holds herself like her body is in cramps. I told my truth, but the walls still seems to close in on her. This is still my fault.

Trying to apologise, I reach out to touch her shoulder. "Emily, I-"

"Baz, _stop!_ " She yells. "Stop thinking you can fix this! It's worse than you can handle - why can't you see that?!"

"I never tried to fix this! It was an impossible situation. I'm sorry, but I was doing what I could-! _Emily, come back!_ "

But she's walking away, kicking up water as she goes. I don't relent in trying to follow her. Snow and Bunce match my pace but are far more upset than I can bear to appear. Snow can barely keep his tears under control, though Penny appears to only be vaguely shaken. Note: _appears_.

"Baz, leave me alo-!"

Emily's words are drowned. Quite literally, drowned. A gushing wave of murky moat water topples through the columns of the school's veranda, whisks her away in a terrible flurry. It hits us so suddenly - one moment we're watching Emily be swept up into the depths of the flood, the next it engulfs us at a surreal speed.

Despite moving forward on the surface to catch us, the water beneath yanked us in a rushing swarm of water and panic. As soon as I'm within reach of Emily, I try to grab her. She, however, is busy fighting relentless battalions of merwolves. Of course, it just had to be _fucking_ merwolves.

The water slows to stagnant. Bunce casts a shaky **_Breathe easy!_** on us and swims to Emily's aide. I have barely enough time to even consider helping them. Within a glance, I'm slammed into a wall harder than I could have imagined, nose to nose with a most lethal merwolf.

I don't even entertain the _thought_ of losing this fight.

 

×××

 

**Emily**

I admit that I _could_ care less about Baz and what he's telling me about his promise to Agatha, but don't dare misunderstand me: I'm mad at him.

I'm mad at Agatha.

I'm fucking furious with the demon that killed her.

And I'm on a vigilante hunt for the Mage, but there's no change there.

I will not be stripped of my right to react. There was an injustice. An innocent girl was killed for no more than bait and sport, and I would be fuming even if I didn't love her. But I do. I love her in life and in death. And I am allowed to be angry that she is gone.

I am allowed to be angry at Baz and Agatha and Penny for not telli g Simon or I that she was alive. Crowley - I was setting candles and praying her a safe journey to heaven, with air in ger lungs and a beat in her heart. They knew - Agatha knew - how much she means to me, but they threw it away for the sake of my 'emotional safety'. As if I couldn't use my intuition to understand her second wind of death. They think I'm misinterpreting the situation now? Oh no. I'm just simply seeing exactly what they think of me - weak, simple-minded, unreliably emotional Emily. _If we don't protect her, who will?_

Fuck that. I will.

I've told them before that I am strong. I've told them before that I do not need my hand held. I am not a weapon, and I am not a prize, and I am _not_ a liability. I am a member of this team. My emotions do not make me weak.

The merwolf I'm dealing with agrees. I've got them slashed and scarred to buggery (seriously, why are they in a _school?_ ) and sedated under a coat of magic. Penny is at my back, hand-to-hand fighting another with her daggers. We catch eye contact. I can't even force myself to smile.

One act of forgiveness, though - I launch myself from one of the pillars and kick the creature in it's gnarled face. The merwolf floats backwards, still as ever, as I make my way over to Baz.

He helplessly punching at the damn merwolf like he's auditioning for _Rocky_. I go in for another kick, indulging in a right hook to Baz's side as I do. It's petty blow. I almost don't care.

The merwolf grabs Baz's collar in it's teeth and pops the top buttons from his shirt, even taking a bite at his shoulder. He sobs terribly. I plant the pointed toe on my boot in the monster's side, making it flail straight into my choke-hold. A few moments of water-muted scuffling later, Simon drives his sword through the thing's throat, missing my arm just barely, and shoves it to the side.

"Good?" He asks me, the words echoing in the bubbles tumbling out of his mouth.

I nod. "Good."

I try to yank Baz away from the wall (reconciliation is a slow process), but he wails out in agony. Simon places a hand over Baz's neck and tries to ask what's wrong. I, however, become distracted by Penny's tugging at my sleeve.

I turn to scold her, currently more concered with why Baz was in so much pain, but I'm instead confronted with a terrifying alternative.

Across the opposite wall, the remaining pack of the Watford merwolves in formation to attack.

I look back to Baz, who appears to be passing out on Simon's shoulder in utter agony. Even though I've comandeered Simon's sword and I have Bunce (our strongest mage and greatest weapon) to my side, there's about ten of them and four, or two, of us.

They growl as they edge forward. I snarl right back.

The merwolves charge without warning. We lose a second or two out of shock. No matter, though; Penny and I launch from the wall, Simon with his under-practiced wand in one hand, his other arm holding up Baz. I face the pack and draw back my wand to attack.

And then the water is gone.

We drop. Twisted ankles and floundering merwolves, grazes from the concrete and Baz's stubborn attempts to hold back his whimpers of pain. The sea monsters can't drag themselves towards us, despite their best efforts. Our squad all passes looks among each other - _what was_ that _?_

Penny isn't looking at me anymore. Her and Simon are staring just above me. Even Baz, in his pained daze, lets his jaw drop.

I turn to join their focus. The columns of the veranda are enclosed in walls of swirling water, innocent fish and plant-life following the rushing currents as the pour back down to the catacombs. The tunnel glows softly around it's pitch black centre, but I can still see the silhouette that emerges with the grace of a ragdoll. My chest aches with dread as I make my assumptions.

"The Mage?" I guess, puzzled as to how he got into the school against the spell.

Penny places a hand over mine. "No..."

I see them stumble forward, eyes blank and shaken. My breathe stops short. It _can't_ be...

But it is. Oh, it is.

"Agatha," I whisper.

_She's here._


	23. 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whoa!!!!!!! the wait!!!!!!!!!!!!! was not too long!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> lads gotta be honest with ya - im not feeling life rn. its a bit down. but im writing loads so i guess theres a plus side, ya feel?
> 
> anyway, probs gonna just put the next couple o' chapters in another book/story/work and have it be part of a series

**Agatha**

 

Everything burns. My open skin, my dry throat, the forest behind my eyes that doesn't seem to be dowsed. Even the dim light of the candle beside my bed burns my dry eyes as they open.

I didn't expect to wake up again. I was sure, after no conscious effort to keep myself alive, my body would crap out. With the amount of pain that's crushing my body, I didn't  _want_ to live through it. It's paralyzing enough to have my body put through a furnace, there's a small detail of my death and it's reputation among a certain four people. Not to mention, the blurry few minutes where I only remember Baz's face, his jacket around my body, and my desperate plea for him to not tell the others. I'm still not 100% that I  _actually_  told him that.

There are voices as I wake up. They're soft and I can barely hear them, but I know it's two boys. Or, maybe older. Maybe. I don't know.

It's like I'm listening to two conversations, though. One is vacant, simply words exchanged. They're filling silent space for the sake of filling it. The other...

 _Anger_.

They were spitting and seething. The language was old, slipping in and out from my grasp. It's like listening to my parents through a glass on the wall. I catch keywords but they have no meaning in passing.

I only understand parts of it. There are words that are too archaic for me to comprehend, some spells that are far out of my time. They still hit me, though. It's surreal. Spells shouldn't affect me if I don't know what it means, but I still feel it heal my wounds. Sometimes I'm a direct target, but the magic is so strong that the residue it lays over my burns. They open and close respectively, a disgusting trail of pus (or blood, I'm not sure) running down my skin.

When all I hear are whispers, close to my ear and far away all the same, I feel restless with all of the change. My brain can't stay in one place at a time. It's terribly disorienting. Even as I'm lying corpse-like on this bed, I feel the world tilting backwards. I wonder how on Earth that could be, until the realities I'm stuck in stop shifting, and I hear Penny come rushing into the room.

Her words are clear, even clearer when I hear them mention Emily. I try to beckon them, but my choked gasps can't be heard over the commotion outside.

There's more shouting outside the closed door, more magic circulating the room, and a looming presence in the corner that I can't shake. All at once, I feel the scars on my body open in a burning flush, and scream despite my wrecked throat.

"You should be dead," the unwanted guest tells me. "You were supposed to die."

The Mage, though I can't see him, steps out from the shadows. I can't say how he's in here and also outside being battered and bruised by the others, but knowing that he can make two places appear at once, I'm not surprised. The corners of the room, once straight edges that now shake and wobble with a bad connection, grow darker and darker over the seconds that the Mage emerges to me. My wounds are still open, still burning, but I'm distracted by the feeling of my magic rising to my skin and soothing the irritations.

"How?!" The Mage exclaims. "You were so inessential!"

I regain the feeling in my hands. The movement is rigid and restricted, but it's  _something_.

I think about what he's saying as he rants and ambles on about his thwarted plans to end me.  _Inessential_. Crowley, is that all I am?

Simon, the Chosen One. Penny, the smart, loyal friend. Baz, the villain, the vampire. Emily, the psychic, the cute one, the love of my current second life.

And me.  _Inessential._

Because before I was with Simon, I was nothing. I went from love interest to love interest, a pathetic girl who depended on other people to give her meaning. I hated being Simon's prize so damn much. I even considered breaking up with him much earlier, just so people would stop referring to me as 'Simon's Girl', or 'His Missus'. Only more degrading was realising that breaking up with Simon turned me into a social hazard. 'Simon's Ex' with a bitter tone and a snarling lip curl. I want to hate Simon for that. I can't, but I want to.

"Why?" The Mage frets. "Why has this-?"

My wounds are closed. There's surely someone looking over me who must be helping me out. I don't feel strong, not in the slightest, but I feel  _power_. I can barely sit up without worrying about my thin, healing skin tearing at the joints, but there's magic that surges through my veins and sparks at my fingertips. Is this what it feels like, to have uncontrollable power? To have the will of logic bend and break at your hand?

Even though my voice is weak, scraping against the edges of my throat, I tell him to _Get away from me!_ ,never intending to use magic on such a mundane phrase. All the same, it works. He's twisted into a tornado and sucked into the floor. Where he'll end up, I don't know (or care).

I just want to get out of here.

The floor is flooded to my knees with a stream of water pouring in from the door. Where there was pounding before on the other side of the old oak slats, there is now calm and quiet. Water laps at the door and rushes in surges past the hinges in bouts of urgency. I have a short, painfully vivid memory of watching Titanic with my friends, a sense of foreboding about the film. I suppose this might be that danger.

I know my magic is weak. I've always known that I'm a weak Mage. Looking atbyhe situation ahead terrifies me numb because I know it'll kill me. Right now though, I'm staring at the door and merely  _thinking_ about blowing it right off it's hinges when I hear the metal pop and wood crack. The vines from outside are twisting around the slates and pulling them apart. The water rushes. I don't care.

It tumbles through the broken wood and splashes to the floor, but doesn't touch me at all. In fact, it clears it's path in walls, carrying debris and aqua-life in strong currents behind me.

I step forward. The water shifts for me. I could have been using a spell or a ritual, but all I'm thinking is  _move move move let me out let me go move I need to see her._

_I need to see her._

Only one merwolf has a go at me, but promptly gets swept to the wall, water being dyed red like drops of ink. I don't feel an inch of empathy. I see water, I see it move, and I go to find Emily.

All I think I is  _Emily Emily Emily._ The water grows further and further away from my steps, stumbling and crooked like a living rag doll.

The clothes I'm wearing aren't mine. The top, silky and thin, hangs from my shoulders loosely and drops off one of my shoulders. The shorts are spelled to fit me and the socks have slipped past their fit, the excess of it folding past my toes as I walk on. On sock reaches up to my knee, the other having slipped down my calf. It feels like a misfitting lacrosse uniform. I don't look to see it, my eyes trained forward ( _Emily Emily Emily_ ). It smells like something hyper-expensive, feels like something out of a lost and found box - well worn by someone else.

Up the stairs and through the columns, the water has risen from floor to ceiling, cordoned off at the edge like an aquarium. I feel the water ripple with a disturbance up ahead of me.

Then I hear her say something.

_Emily_

I feel her moving.

_Emily_

I know they're in danger.

_Emily Emi_ **_ly Emily_ **

I think of her, and the water parts. A giant hallway, walled by water, straight for me to them. Out of the shadows, I walk to the sound of her voice. Her confusion, their answers, a hive mind of anxiety, until-

"Agatha," she sighs. Not in relief, nor disbelief, but in pain. My name wavers in her, it shakes so weakly. Overused and mulled. The sound of someone who was about to give up. "Holy shit-  _Agatha!_ "

All I see is her. Hair drenched and curling, patchy tanned skin and torn clothes, brown eyes blown and wet with tears. My girl, my favourite girl, running towards me on sea weakened legs with her arms out to grab me.

When she holds me, I fall onto her, utterly infatuated with her touch. So warm, even when I thought I'd never bear heat again, and softly holding me. She pulls me close. I focus on her eyes. We're kneeling, and I can't think of a better place to be.

_Home._

"Hey there, gorgeous," I whisper, voice still burnt and cracking. Emily sobs onto me. "Holding up the fort?"

She laughs, crying still. It's all very dramatic. "Only barely. What the fuck happened to you?"

I roll my head into her shoulder and huddle up to her. "I'll tell you soon. I'm tired and cold, would you believe it? A fire induced coma and I'm  _fucking_ freezing, ready for a nap."

I don't realise all at once how emotional Emily is, until she presses her forehead to mine, shaking and holding back sobs. I lift a hand, shaking in pain, to stroke her hair back, but prefer to nudge my nose against hers for some kind of comfort. Emily sobs again.

"Don't do that again!" She cries. "Don't do that..."

My finger runs down her jaw to her chin. She's staring directly into my eyes. I've seen nothing more gorgeous than the way her pupils grew and retracted, the details in her soft brown eyes shifting and rearranging the spots of green and gold. I can't think. I can't speak.

Her eyes close, thick lashes dripping with misery and relief. I close my eyes, too, wishing I could take the moment and place inside a locket. Before anyone else can appear and take the magic out of whatever we're doing.

Emily holds me tighter. _I want to kiss her_. Our noses press against each other at the sides.  _I want to kiss her._  I open my eyes and run my thumb over her lip.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, far too dissociated to feel much more than a soft nudge of regret. I mean it, I do. I can't say how, but I mean it.

I can't say how, so I kiss her.

My hand has to hold the back of her neck and pull her down to me, and as soon as our lips touch, she holds my jaw in her warm hands. Everything is hot again, my neck is burnong skin beneath my hair, her hands like trails of the fire I sought a homely comfort in. All of her, every inch, soft as a dream underneath my calloused fingertips and scarred palms. The burn I'd feared and despised became passion. I pushed, she gasped, and months of pining came to a relieved end.

We only kissed once, and surely not for as long as I'd perceived it to be, but the room was too loud to continue. I was too aware of the water  rushing around us, the gasping of the others somewhere up ahead of us. It all made my brain so fuzzy and sore. Even as Emily held my head in her hands and asked me if I was okay, I couldn't focus enough on her to enjoy anymore of her contact.

"Yeah, I-" But I couldn't even think of the words. "I can't- can't...see."

That wasn't really true. The problem was that I could see too much. It was all I could think to say, though. Why? Am I really lying?

I can see, but I can't process. I can't see a clear thought. I can't see through my own confusion. I can't see.

No -  _now_  I can't see.


	24. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hhey,, what the Fuck is this??????????????????? and update????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

**Simon**

Even though I saw her, alive (unconscious) on that dusty old bed, I didn't expect Agatha to stumble out like a broken god after all of this.

Baz, bless him, lets out a sigh that resembles a reverent ' _oh, thank fuck_ ' when we see her. He just about collapses when Emily runs towards Agatha, but I put that more down to his mangled leg over anything. When he sees me walking over to help him up, he waves a quick hand and doesn't quite meet my eye.

_Oh, right. We almost kissed._

I don't know about him, but I don't think I could really settle with us being 'almost' something. All or nothing might be a bit extreme, but I've heard horror stories of the fragility of being someone's 'almost'. Baz might not go off and find another bloke, sure, but there's always a chance that an ember could die.

Do I want this? Really?

I look back at Baz, wet hair in knot atop of his head, wincing so shamelessly with his fangs popped out, panting noisily until he sputters up some water down his front. Considering that shit-show brings forward nothing but a fond smile and small laugh at his expense, I'd say I definitely need to give this a thought or two. Plus, he felt so nice, just a breathe away from my lips...

Consider that to be one of said thoughts.

I can't really see what's going on with Emily and Agatha, although I'd bet good money that they'll kiss at least once or twice. I'll admit, the thought stirs something deep and terrible and jealous within me.

But Emily loves her so much.

And Agatha is just as devoted.

And I'm staring back at Baz without realising, and he's grinning something wicked at the two girls underneath the water.

It's too blurry for me to see, but Penny assures me, with a giddy air and static bouncing, that they're okay. They're happy.  _They're kissing, Simon! Finally!_  I have half a mind to begin cheering.

Of course, Agatha then collapses and the moment is subsequently over. ( _Typical_. Can we not have one good thing?)

I don't really remember running to them, nor do I recall a conversation about carrying organisation with Emily, but we're halfway back to the castle when Baz spells us to hurry. Sure enough, with Agatha's intention wavering in her unconscious state, the water has begun to seep back into the laws of gravity, pooling at our ankles.

By the time we reach the bottom of the stairwell outside the Great Hall, pipes that line the high ceilings and run up the cracked brick walls begin to shake and pop. The water that dribbled down the remnants of vines should have been enough warning, but neither Emily or I anticipated the crushing pressure of water rushing out at us. It knocks us to our knees on the steps. Agatha barely misses having her skull cracked open on the edge.

At the top of the stairs, I see Penny just about drop Baz to come help us. He looks less than approving, but pulls his wand out anyway and casts a weak spell that I can't hear through the sloshing water. Spirals of red magic shoot out to us and drag us three off the ground and up the stairs. He's shaking and wincing, Penny doing her best to keep him standing. Emily and I are desperately trying to wake Agatha up, or at least keep her from getting hurt.

As we're stumbling through the air, bumping into the stairs, I feel the stress finaly cracking at my magic. At first it only peeked through the cracks in my composure, but soon it pours out mercilessly over both Agatha and Emily like a druggy smoke. While Agatha's eyes stayed closed, she raises her head and takes a step upwards. She looks like a zombie. Penny looks equally elated and horrified.

When we get to the top, Baz's endurance is up. He drops us with an apology, and my hand shoots out to stop the impact. Unfortunately for me, it lands on Baz's injured leg. Fortunately for Baz, my magic spills some more, and I feel the bones under my hand realign.  _Heal_.

Baz stares at me, eyes wide, awestruck.

Immediately, I take my hand away. "I'm sorry-"

"You are  _bloody brilliant,_ you are," he laughs. "You absolute  _nightmare_."

Penny hauls us both up to our feet. Emily holds Agatha like a princess, glancing anxiously at the popping pipes.

"We need to go," she declares. "Grab everything. We're leaving Watford."

×××

Agatha was sat in the back of a stolen car with Emily and Penny as Baz and I carried the last of our chosen belongings into the boot. Baz and Agatha are the only ones of us with proper licenses, so Baz is clearly the designated driver. Given that Emily still isn't letting him into her good books, and Penny is debating with herself whether Baz's choices really were all that moral, I'm happily obliging to sit up front with him.

We swing ourselves into the car and spare no lingering glances as seatbelt are clicked in and mirrors are checked and adjusted. Baz throws his phone into the ashtray below the dashboard, shoves the magic-made key in the ignition, and catches Emily's eye as he turns around to watch his reversing. She doesn't scowl, but her frown doesn't soften at all. Watching them interact is almost too intense to handle.

Just as Baz slides his gazes past her to pay attention to his driving, Emily pulls out her wand outlines a square around the backseat, casting  _ **These four walls!**_ The sound of Penny's jewellery mutes, replaced by Baz's defeated sigh.

"What-?"

"It's an isolation spell," he explains gravely. "It may not look like it, but they're speaking right now. Probably about me. Is that egocentric?"

I only really guess what that word means because I've insulted Baz so many times about stroking his own massive ego. He's exposed his vulnerability by asking that. I'm a little bit proud.

"No, it's a fair judgement," I assure him.

"Do you hate me, too?" He asks casually (challengingly), looking past the steering wheel to turn at an intersection. "Well,  _again_."

"Not to be blunt, but would I be going for a kiss if I hated you over this?" I shoot back, grinning. He raises his eyebrows as if to say  _'You never know...'._  "Look, I understand your judgement. I get what you were trying to do, and Agatha will be so pleased that you at least tried. I might be a bit upset, but that's within my right. You might be thinking you did the right thing, and that's within your right. These situations aren't dichotomies."

Baz almost veers off the road, I'm sure. "Crowley, Snow. You almost used that word correctly."

I can't be disheartened when he looks soft like this, giggling and sucking on his fangs self-consciously. "How should I use it then? Go on. Teach me."

"You should have introduced the idea of good an evil before you said it," he smiles.

"Oh,  _really_ ," I retort sarcastically.

" _Yes_ , because otherwise you're discussing the situation and not the moral stand-off we're having. The situation is a dichotomy. With me, or against me."

I throw my hands out. "But I'm saying that I'm both! Not a dichotomy."

" _With_  me," he goes on, gesturing between us. "Against me." He jabs his thumb to the backseat.

"I still think you're wrong."

"Stubborn."

"Hm."

" _Hm_."

We sit in silence for a while as Baz drives. He's a very steady driver, not like many of the taxi drivers I've been with over the years. I want to tell him, but maybe that moment is over. Maybe that's the last time I'll get to see Baz as a teenage boy, arguing with me over the definition of 'dichotomy'.

I mean, really. When there's clearly a middle ground that I'm standing on, how could it be two opposing sides? I don't want to claim that I'm correct over Baz, but it seems clear to me that he's got it all twisted.

_With me. Against me._

Or maybe his mind is elsewhere.

"Hey," I beckon. "You're a good driver."

He snorts. "All right..."

"Like I've known some  _shit_ drivers, but you're really good. Smooth."

He might be blushing, but I don't let myself look at him long enough to really check. We're turning down a dirty country road, rain spotting the windshield. "Better than your annual taxis?" He asks.

" _Way_  better. They all drive like they're in a hurry, but you're so relaxed."

"Oh,  _watch_ me in traffic," he chuckles. "It's terrible. Besides, wasn't one of your taxis driven by a goblin? I'd be in a hurry to get you out if I was a goblin."

Ah, that was this year. Horrible, awful experience. Had to kill him and rock up to school covered in blood. "Good thing you're not a goblin, then," I tease.

This is nice, like this. Us. We're being friendly, its almost too good to be true.

I really do like staring at him.

×××

**Penny**

As soon as Emily casts her spell, I'm turning on her for interrogation. "What are you-?!"

" _Don't_ think that you are  _any_  more innocent than he is," she threatens, "just because you decided to give in."

I hesitate, just a while, looking for some way out of this position. Emily does have a point - I didn't tell them anything about Agatha, same as Baz. That doesn't make me as bad as Baz, though. Does it?

I look into the rearview mirror and see Baz's eyes, smiling like they've seen sunshine. Then I look at Simon's face, and reckon  _maybe they have_.

Maybe Baz was right. He has to grapple onto a secret and hide at all costs, because that was what he's always done. Keep quiet, stay hidden - isn't that exactly what his parents drilled into him? He's already taught himself to conceal the parts of himself that people don't want to see, despite finding a group of people who don't care what he  _is_ , just so long as he isn't killing anyone. I watch the two boys in the front seat banter about, noticing a familiar, unplaceable smile on Simon's face, and realise; he didn't do it to hurt us. Baz kept his promise to save two vulnerable people from another potential heartbreak; Agatha from anxiety and overwhelming; himself from himself.

"Look - I was mad, too," I try, turning to lie against the seat side-on. "He was asking me to keep more than a secret. A  _burden_. I understand how you might want to exile him, but this is  _Baz_. This is what he does. Keeps secrets, dodges the truth, finds a way to protect himself. Except this time he aas protecting all of us-"

" _Save me_ the politician's speech, Bunce," she snarls. Emily is like fire, flickering and trembling. "I'm angry, and I'm going to continue to be angry until Agatha wakes up and tells me what the fuck happened. Don't think we're okay, Penelope."

"But I thought-"  _You were on my side._

"You thought wrong," Emily grumbles,  crossing her arms and staring straight ahead. With not much more than a flick of her wand, the wall of magic drops. Neither Simon or Baz acknowledges it.

We keep driving in silence.

×××

**Baz**

"Where are we going?" I ask, turning into the nearest town centre and waiting pensively behind a learner driver. "There's a place I know, around 2 hours from here, but it's family property. Risky."

Simon drums his fingers on his knee and raises an eyebrow at me. "Are we fugitives?" He asks. "What's the harm in saying we're there?"

"First of all, congratulations on knowing the meaning of 'fugitive'  _and_ using it correctly." Simon bats at my shoulder, giggling. Crowley, is this what I could have? "Second of all, we're being hunted by a psychopathic, inter-dimensional political figure, who wants to kill us all - giving anyone our location is a risk."

"Fucking -  _I have an idea!_ " Someone all-too-excitedly exclaims. Agatha sits up and bats at my shoulder. "I have a beach house across this town and over the next one. It's pretty much secluded in the Winter. It's  _perfect._ "

"How long have you been awake?!" I exclaim, finding it very hard to stay focused on the road. Emily and Penny are asleep, unerringly so. It's impossible to say whether I should wake them up or not - Agatha or not, I'd lose a limb.

"I'd say 10 minutes."

"You're a bloody nightmare, you are."

Simon, glassy-eyed and shocked half to death, reaches for my hand on the joystick. I bite my lip" and let him take it, trying to remind myself to keep my  _eyes_  on the  _damn road._

"Agatha," he chokes.

Agatha gives us a small, sweet smile. "Simon," she whispered.

"Missed you."

"As you should have." Then she turns back to me. "I have a bone to pick with you, sir."

"No need for formalities, Wellbelove," I bite out. "You've caused me enough trouble as is."

"But!" She countered, pointing a finger. "You broke a promise."

"Fuck off."

"Baz, I told you not to tell anyone," she whined. Simon's eyes widened, his hand squeezing around mine. "What if I'd died? Hm? Then what?"

Simon's hand on mine seemed to grower warmer. He squeezed again, three times for good measure. "I'd explain that to your lovely girlfriend, if you wouldn't mind," I seethed. 

Simon gave me a small smile and ran his thumb over the knuckle of my thumb. It occurs to me once again how close we are, how soft he's being with me -  _forgiving_. I have to believe that it will all crash in a burning heap with one brick out of place, else I'll fall for him all over again. He could crush me with his hand over mine like this. I almost forget that the road behind us is a coward's trail to safer grounds.

It almost doesn't matter. A new chapter is exactly what we need.

**Simon**

Even though I saw her, alive (unconscious) on that dusty old bed, I didn't expect Agatha to stumble out like a broken god after all of this.

Baz, bless him, lets out a sigh that resembles a reverent ' _oh, thank fuck_ ' when we see her. He just about collapses when Emily runs towards Agatha, but I put that more down to his mangled leg over anything. When he sees me walking over to help him up, he waves a quick hand and doesn't quite meet my eye.

_Oh, right. We almost kissed._

I don't know about him, but I don't think I could really settle with us being 'almost' something. All or nothing might be a bit extreme, but I've heard horror stories of the fragility of being someone's 'almost'. Baz might not go off and find another bloke, sure, but there's always a chance that an ember could die.

Do I want this? Really?

I look back at Baz, wet hair in knot atop of his head, wincing so shamelessly with his fangs popped out, panting noisily until he sputters up some water down his front. Considering that shit-show brings forward nothing but a fond smile and small laugh at his expense, I'd say I definitely need to give this a thought or two. Plus, he felt so nice, just a breathe away from my lips...

Consider that to be one of said thoughts.

I can't really see what's going on with Emily and Agatha, although I'd bet good money that they'll kiss at least once or twice. I'll admit, the thought stirs something deep and terrible and jealous within me.

But Emily loves her so much.

And Agatha is just as devoted.

And I'm staring back at Baz without realising, and he's grinning something wicked at the two girls underneath the water.

It's too blurry for me to see, but Penny assures me, with a giddy air and static bouncing, that they're okay. They're happy.  _They're kissing, Simon! Finally!_  I have half a mind to begin cheering.

Of course, Agatha then collapses and the moment is subsequently over. ( _Typical_. Can we not have one good thing?)

I don't really remember running to them, nor do I recall a conversation about carrying organisation with Emily, but we're halfway back to the castle when Baz spells us to hurry. Sure enough, with Agatha's intention wavering in her unconscious state, the water has begun to seep back into the laws of gravity, pooling at our ankles.

By the time we reach the bottom of the stairwell outside the Great Hall, pipes that line the high ceilings and run up the cracked brick walls begin to shake and pop. The water that dribbled down the remnants of vines should have been enough warning, but neither Emily or I anticipated the crushing pressure of water rushing out at us. It knocks us to our knees on the steps. Agatha barely misses having her skull cracked open on the edge.

At the top of the stairs, I see Penny just about drop Baz to come help us. He looks less than approving, but pulls his wand out anyway and casts a weak spell that I can't hear through the sloshing water. Spirals of red magic shoot out to us and drag us three off the ground and up the stairs. He's shaking and wincing, Penny doing her best to keep him standing. Emily and I are desperately trying to wake Agatha up, or at least keep her from getting hurt.

As we're stumbling through the air, bumping into the stairs, I feel the stress finaly cracking at my magic. At first it only peeked through the cracks in my composure, but soon it pours out mercilessly over both Agatha and Emily like a druggy smoke. While Agatha's eyes stayed closed, she raises her head and takes a step upwards. She looks like a zombie. Penny looks equally elated and horrified.

When we get to the top, Baz's endurance is up. He drops us with an apology, and my hand shoots out to stop the impact. Unfortunately for me, it lands on Baz's injured leg. Fortunately for Baz, my magic spills some more, and I feel the bones under my hand realign.  _Heal_.

Baz stares at me, eyes wide, awestruck.

Immediately, I take my hand away. "I'm sorry-"

"You are  _bloody brilliant,_ you are," he laughs. "You absolute  _nightmare_."

Penny hauls us both up to our feet. Emily holds Agatha like a princess, glancing anxiously at the popping pipes.

"We need to go," she declares. "Grab everything. We're leaving Watford."

×××

Agatha was sat in the back of a stolen car with Emily and Penny as Baz and I carried the last of our chosen belongings into the boot. Baz and Agatha are the only ones of us with proper licenses, so Baz is clearly the designated driver. Given that Emily still isn't letting him into her good books, and Penny is debating with herself whether Baz's choices really were all that moral, I'm happily obliging to sit up front with him.

We swing ourselves into the car and spare no lingering glances as seatbelt are clicked in and mirrors are checked and adjusted. Baz throws his phone into the ashtray below the dashboard, shoves the magic-made key in the ignition, and catches Emily's eye as he turns around to watch his reversing. She doesn't scowl, but her frown doesn't soften at all. Watching them interact is almost too intense to handle.

Just as Baz slides his gazes past her to pay attention to his driving, Emily pulls out her wand outlines a square around the backseat, casting  _ **These four walls!**_ The sound of Penny's jewellery mutes, replaced by Baz's defeated sigh.

"What-?"

"It's an isolation spell," he explains gravely. "It may not look like it, but they're speaking right now. Probably about me. Is that egocentric?"

I only really guess what that word means because I've insulted Baz so many times about stroking his own massive ego. He's exposed his vulnerability by asking that. I'm a little bit proud.

"No, it's a fair judgement," I assure him.

"Do you hate me, too?" He asks casually (challengingly), looking past the steering wheel to turn at an intersection. "Well,  _again_."

"Not to be blunt, but would I be going for a kiss if I hated you over this?" I shoot back, grinning. He raises his eyebrows as if to say  _'You never know...'._  "Look, I understand your judgement. I get what you were trying to do, and Agatha will be so pleased that you at least tried. I might be a bit upset, but that's within my right. You might be thinking you did the right thing, and that's within your right. These situations aren't dichotomies."

Baz almost veers off the road, I'm sure. "Crowley, Snow. You almost used that word correctly."

I can't be disheartened when he looks soft like this, giggling and sucking on his fangs self-consciously. "How should I use it then? Go on. Teach me."

"You should have introduced the idea of good an evil before you said it," he smiles.

"Oh,  _really_ ," I retort sarcastically.

" _Yes_ , because otherwise you're discussing the situation and not the moral stand-off we're having. The situation is a dichotomy. With me, or against me."

I throw my hands out. "But I'm saying that I'm both! Not a dichotomy."

" _With_  me," he goes on, gesturing between us. "Against me." He jabs his thumb to the backseat.

"I still think you're wrong."

"Stubborn."

"Hm."

" _Hm_."

We sit in silence for a while as Baz drives. He's a very steady driver, not like many of the taxi drivers I've been with over the years. I want to tell him, but maybe that moment is over. Maybe that's the last time I'll get to see Baz as a teenage boy, arguing with me over the definition of 'dichotomy'.

I mean, really. When there's clearly a middle ground that I'm standing on, how could it be two opposing sides? I don't want to claim that I'm correct over Baz, but it seems clear to me that he's got it all twisted.

_With me. Against me._

Or maybe his mind is elsewhere.

"Hey," I beckon. "You're a good driver."

He snorts. "All right..."

"Like I've known some  _shit_ drivers, but you're really good. Smooth."

He might be blushing, but I don't let myself look at him long enough to really check. We're turning down a dirty country road, rain spotting the windshield. "Better than your annual taxis?" He asks.

" _Way_  better. They all drive like they're in a hurry, but you're so relaxed."

"Oh,  _watch_ me in traffic," he chuckles. "It's terrible. Besides, wasn't one of your taxis driven by a goblin? I'd be in a hurry to get you out if I was a goblin."

Ah, that was this year. Horrible, awful experience. Had to kill him and rock up to school covered in blood. "Good thing you're not a goblin, then," I tease.

This is nice, like this. Us. We're being friendly, its almost too good to be true.

I really do like staring at him.

×××

**Penny**

As soon as Emily casts her spell, I'm turning on her for interrogation. "What are you-?!"

" _Don't_ think that you are  _any_  more innocent than he is," she threatens, "just because you decided to give in."

I hesitate, just a while, looking for some way out of this position. Emily does have a point - I didn't tell them anything about Agatha, same as Baz. That doesn't make me as bad as Baz, though. Does it?

I look into the rearview mirror and see Baz's eyes, smiling like they've seen sunshine. Then I look at Simon's face, and reckon  _maybe they have_.

Maybe Baz was right. He has to grapple onto a secret and hide at all costs, because that was what he's always done. Keep quiet, stay hidden - isn't that exactly what his parents drilled into him? He's already taught himself to conceal the parts of himself that people don't want to see, despite finding a group of people who don't care what he  _is_ , just so long as he isn't killing anyone. I watch the two boys in the front seat banter about, noticing a familiar, unplaceable smile on Simon's face, and realise; he didn't do it to hurt us. Baz kept his promise to save two vulnerable people from another potential heartbreak; Agatha from anxiety and overwhelming; himself from himself.

"Look - I was mad, too," I try, turning to lie against the seat side-on. "He was asking me to keep more than a secret. A  _burden_. I understand how you might want to exile him, but this is  _Baz_. This is what he does. Keeps secrets, dodges the truth, finds a way to protect himself. Except this time he aas protecting all of us-"

" _Save me_ the politician's speech, Bunce," she snarls. Emily is like fire, flickering and trembling. "I'm angry, and I'm going to continue to be angry until Agatha wakes up and tells me what the fuck happened. Don't think we're okay, Penelope."

"But I thought-"  _You were on my side._

"You thought wrong," Emily grumbles,  crossing her arms and staring straight ahead. With not much more than a flick of her wand, the wall of magic drops. Neither Simon or Baz acknowledges it.

We keep driving in silence.

×××

**Baz**

"Where are we going?" I ask, turning into the nearest town centre and waiting pensively behind a learner driver. "There's a place I know, around 2 hours from here, but it's family property. Risky."

Simon drums his fingers on his knee and raises an eyebrow at me. "Are we fugitives?" He asks. "What's the harm in saying we're there?"

"First of all, congratulations on knowing the meaning of 'fugitive'  _and_ using it correctly." Simon bats at my shoulder, giggling. Crowley, is this what I could have? "Second of all, we're being hunted by a psychopathic, inter-dimensional political figure, who wants to kill us all - giving anyone our location is a risk."

"Fucking -  _I have an idea!_ " Someone all-too-excitedly exclaims. Agatha sits up and bats at my shoulder. "I have a beach house across this town and over the next one. It's pretty much secluded in the Winter. It's  _perfect._ "

"How long have you been awake?!" I exclaim, finding it very hard to stay focused on the road. Emily and Penny are asleep, unerringly so. It's impossible to say whether I should wake them up or not - Agatha or not, I'd lose a limb.

"I'd say 10 minutes."

"You're a bloody nightmare, you are."

Simon, glassy-eyed and shocked half to death, reaches for my hand on the joystick. I bite my lip" and let him take it, trying to remind myself to keep my  _eyes_  on the  _damn road._

"Agatha," he chokes.

Agatha gives us a small, sweet smile. "Simon," she whispered.

"Missed you."

"As you should have." Then she turns back to me. "I have a bone to pick with you, sir."

"No need for formalities, Wellbelove," I bite out. "You've caused me enough trouble as is."

"But!" She countered, pointing a finger. "You broke a promise."

"Fuck off."

"Baz, I told you not to tell anyone," she whined. Simon's eyes widened, his hand squeezing around mine. "What if I'd died? Hm? Then what?"

Simon's hand on mine seemed to grower warmer. He squeezed again, three times for good measure. "I'd explain that to your lovely girlfriend, if you wouldn't mind," I seethed. 

Simon gave me a small smile and ran his thumb over the knuckle of my thumb. It occurs to me once again how close we are, how soft he's being with me -  _forgiving_. I have to believe that it will all crash in a burning heap with one brick out of place, else I'll fall for him all over again. He could crush me with his hand over mine like this. I almost forget that the road behind us is a coward's trail to safer grounds.

It almost doesn't matter. A new chapter is exactly what we need.


	25. And Hold

Hello!! 

 

If you hadn't seen it already, the second part to this story is up and running! I have no competency for titles! :D!

There should be a link to it from this story (it's a apart of a series whoa fancy shmancy) and I hope it doesn't lose the plot lmao fingers crossed.

 

Thank you so much for reading this story! It means a HEAP to me, you have no idea.

 

<3

**Author's Note:**

> this is complete but theres another story coming to finish it off. you wouldn't believe how attached to this story I am rip. love love <3


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